


Language of Monsters

by Milo



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Identity Issues, Lots of Original Characters - Freeform, Mild Gore, Monsters, Parent-Child Relationship, also horses because we're all horse girls now, shout out to dylan thomas whom i steal my chapter titles from, welcome to my monster mash mosh pit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: “You were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight. If that was the only thing you were ever told… I wonder then...would you have chosen a different path?”The Shrine of Resurrection doesn't save the Hero. Hyrule's best scientists put their heads together to figure out a new strategy while they wait for the Hero to reincarnate.However, something quite different happens this time around.
Comments: 70
Kudos: 225





	1. Death Shall Have No Dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened here stays between the four of us,” she says. When Robbie starts to interrupt, she glares at him. “Don’t even start. If we go out there and tell all of Hyrule that their _last_ chance to stop the Calamity is gone, then we really _will_ lose everything.”

The heaviness of reality _truly_ sets in when the Shrine of Resurrection does not accept his body. 

The shrine remained lifeless, and cold, just as their fallen hero. Purah struggles to figure out what went _wrong_ with _everything_ they had planned. She tries placing, replacing, removing, and rebooting the shrine’s main control unit to no avail. The hero’s body, still warm, lays on the grate below the resurrection chamber. Which should have immediately placed him in stasis, slowed down his dissipating vitals, and repaired him.

It’s dark. The only light around them is that of the luminous stone decorating the walls.

“Well, shit,” she says bluntly, wiping her greasy forehead with the back of her arm. “It’s not taking him.”

The other two Sheikah accompanying her exchange worried glances. She huffs and struggles to her feet. Normally tinkering doesn’t wear her out so much--but this? It’s pure stress. The world is ending, the monarch is depending on her, and here she is with their dead friend’s body that she cannot feasibly bring back to life. Even with the otherworldly tech of the ancestors.

Her white hair clings to the sweat and grime on her face. She eyes the body of the hero, shoulders slumping.

Monsters tore up his shoulders and thighs, there’s a large puncture wound in his chest from goddess knows what, and, to add insult to injury, his face is caked in mud, blood spatter, and grass stains. Guardian laser burns riddle his front and exit through holes in his back. They’re still bleeding; the bright blue of the healing water is stained with swirls of blood.

Clouds gathered overhead, thunderclaps rolling in as the rain pelted the Great Plateau. The shattering of brick and mortar, crumbling of stone, screams of civilians, and _zing_ of Guardian laserbeams echoed over the hills. Plumes of red and black smoke encircled the castle, radiating a resentment of the purest form. Cold wind penetrates the Shrine’s walls, even this deep into the mountain.

The Champions fell, the Divine Beasts had been captured. Princess Zelda left for the castle to hold back the Calamity, confident of her knight’s return.

Now he, too, was gone.

“Lady Purah--”

She holds up a hand. The man falls silent again. Her footsteps echo against the walls as she walks forward and settles down beside the body. Strange to think how only days ago this was the boy who she’d been chattering on to about the new discoveries of the Slate. Whom she caught playfully snapping images of horses when he had other duties and sneaking apple slices into the no-food-allowed Guardian workshop.

It doesn’t feel real.

Loud footsteps approach them. She doesn’t even need to turn to know that it’s Robbie, no doubt running to see their success after years of messing with it all. When they slow, then taper off to a halt, the silence is deafening. She slowly lifts her head with a heavy sigh.

“Now what?” he asks.

“I’m thinking,” Purah replies.

“Should we send word to the princess?”

“And break her spirit before we even get underway? Hell no.” She shakes her head as she again rises to her feet. “She doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

Then, she faces the three men behind her, eyes each one, and furrows her brow.

“What happened here stays between the four of us,” she says. When Robbie starts to interrupt, she glares at him. “Don’t even start. If we go out there and tell all of Hyrule that their _last_ chance to stop the Calamity is gone, then we really _will_ lose everything.”

“Are we not there _already_?” Robbie snaps. “Look around, Purah! The entire kingdom of Hyrule is in _flames_ \--the tech lab’s gone, Fort Hateno is barely holding together, and the Guardians are stampeding toward Akkala Citadel. Goddess help us all if they reach Kakariko.” He claws at his own messy hair, which is even worse than hers from lack of sleep, and then turns to take his frustration on a few empty wooden crates beside them. “No Champions, no princess, no hero. We’re so _fucked_.”

Purah closes her eyes and chews her lip. She gets it. That frustration. Everything really is fucked. As far as anyone is concerned, the past ten years of rigorous excavation, tinkering, discovering, and planning has all been for naught. Thousands of rupees poured into a waste of time. She inhales through her nose, then exhales through her mouth. Maybe they’re up shit creek. But she’s never been a defeatist. They’re the best goddamn scientists in Hyrule, aren’t they? It’s not over. Not until they’ve exhausted every last option.

Shakily, as if her body was made of stone, she hauls herself to her feet with some effort. She gives a very weary looking Robbie a look, then turns toward the other two Sheikah men with them.

“First things first,” she says, gesturing at the lifeless hero at their feet. “We can’t just leave him to rot in this shrine. He deserves a half decent burial.” 

* * *

Kakariko Village is far from the grasp of the Calamity, and yet even here one cannot rid themself of the fear resonating throughout the land. Refugees from the castle clamor to find food and medical care, shielding themselves and what little they have from the pouring rain. Children are crying and clinging to their mothers’ torn dresses. Broken families search for survivors.

Under the eaves of an old house, the court musician cradles his lute, fingers plucking out notes as he thumbs out a slow, somber tune of the Champions in the wake of disaster. 

Impa struggles to coordinate the rush of civilians in the tiny Sheikah town. Houses are overflowing, encampments are forced to be opened in the streets. “Temporary,” she assures them without knowing how long _temporary_ will be. They’ve already got their hands full barricading the entryways into the town; the Calamity has sent the monsters into a frenzied, manic rampage all across Hyrule.

None of this was supposed to go so badly. They’d all rehearsed, prepared, planned, prepared again, all in time for the Calamity. It should have been the same as any other reincarnation cycle, if legend were to be believed.

Her only sanctuary is her private residence; the ancestral family home at the foot of the waterfall. Guards will keep both monsters and the manic, stressed civilians away for the night. With all that’s happened, it’s a small but welcome relief. Goddess knows how Impa ended up with the kingdom on her shoulders, but, as one of the princess’ staff, she supposes it might have been inevitable.

She shuts and locks the heavy wooden doors behind her, breathes a sigh, and takes off her shoes. It hasn’t even been a day since the Calamity hit and already she feels exhausted...

A floorboard creaks in the next room.

Impa’s hand hovers over her blade. Has some fool really decided to break in? Right in the middle of all this? Perhaps they believed her to weaken in the face of all of this. Oh, how wrong they’d be.

She crouches down, nimbly shuffling across the floor with the expert precision of an assassin. Clearly the invader hasn’t noticed her, as they continue knocking things around and wandering as if they own the place. Impa approaches the wall just beside the doorway to the tea room, listens for a moment, and then leaps forward, eightfold blade at the ready--

“AAH!”

“HAA!”

She freezes. There is Purah, not so sneakily knocking on one of her walls, eyes wide as dinner plates. Impa groans, sheiths her blade, and glares at her sister, who immediately settles down and pushes up her glasses.

“Purah! Goddess above, I nearly killed you where you stand,” Impa fumes. “What on earth are you doing here, rummaging through my home?”

“You keep gran’s old library around here, right?” Purah asks. “Behind some false wall?”

Impa eyes her sister, dumbfounded. Even in the middle of a crisis, Purah is just the same pushy, single-minded woman she always has been. Heaven knows when she got there and Impa isn’t surprised; Purah comes and goes as she pleases without much warning. But what does she want now? She could’ve sworn her sister was halfway across Hyrule...

“Yes, it’s here. It never left,” Impa replies. “But now really isn’t the time to--”

“Ah, there we are!”

Behind a small bookshelf was the tiny locked door leading into their cellar. Impa had it installed for safety precautions (and to keep the especially nosy people out of her ancestors’ belongings). She couldn’t remember telling Purah about this, but, then again...her sister knew how paranoid she was at times. And clearly Impa was going to need a better hiding place for the key if Purah had uncovered it so easily.

Purah moves the furniture aside with ease, unlocks the door, and pulls it open. It’s a pitch-black descent down an old ladder and barely large enough for Purah to squeeze through. Impa realizes that there’s no stopping her sister and simply watches.

“There’s no electricity down there, Purah,” she calls after her.

“Eh. I brought a light myself.”

Impa stares down at a faint blue light that reflects off of antique wooden shelves and reveals a faint silhouette of her sister. A luminous stone, maybe? 

“Are you not supposed to be at the Shrine of Resurrection?”

“I was, yeah,” Purah’s voice echoes up from below. “Don’t worry about it, we finished up there.”

Impa isn’t sure she likes how dismissive Purah’s tone is, especially in light of the situation at hand. Something seems off, however, she cannot put her finger on it. She rests her arms on the side of the doorway. Purah might simply be stressed as they all were. Indeed, her older sister was known to behave oddly when under significant pressure.

“If you’re truly in need of something to occupy your time,” she begins, “I have my hands full with refugees. More are coming by the day. Surely you could help?”

“I’m not a people person, Impa. You know that.” More rummaging. The dull _thunk_ of a book landing on a table. Followed by another, heavier sounding _thunk_ . “I do my best work behind a locked door with a box of Guardian guts,” she continues. “And if you _really_ must know, that’s why I’m down here going through this mildew archive.”

Impa arches her eyebrows but says nothing, instead listening as Purah explains.

“Everything’s gone to shit,” Purah states bluntly. “With any luck, some ancestor’s got a few ideas that we haven’t yet explored.” She sets another book on top of her pile. “You know me, I’m a scientist. I believe in what I can see. But, hey, sometimes you just gotta--ugh, this one _reeks_ \--step outta your comfort zone…”

Minutes later, Purah’s scaling the ladder with books under one arm. She’s covered in dust and cobwebs, but altogether unperturbed. The volumes she’s selected aren’t books Impa is intimately familiar with; the titles are faded gold lettering, one has only half of an image depicting a beast, and another is small, blue, and unmarked. They’re all full of dust and look as though they haven’t seen the light of day in generations.

“We don’t have anyone to rely on anymore. The only thing left is us and our resources.” She pokes her glasses further up her nose. “You handle the public, I’ll handle the technical stuff.”

“You have an idea?” Impa asks.

“Assuming the kingdom doesn’t completely burn down tomorrow, possibly,” Purah replies. “I need time to look into it.”

Indeed. If only that wasn’t the thing they were so lacking in at the moment. Impa sighs. Her thoughts drift back to the princess, holed up in whatever remains of Hyrule Castle. Alone, with that-- _creature_. There’s been no word since she entered the castle. No progression in the Calamity, but no recession either. A stalemate, if one discounts the hoards of monsters roaming the countryside.

Can Zelda repel the beast for a prolonged period of time? Impa may be well-versed in lore and legend, but the specific details are beyond her. Only Zelda would know her own capabilities. And, though she had faith in her, Impa knew she was only one, mortal person.

How much time do they have, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update 12/17: there was a trump supporter raging in the comments and it's so absolutely buck wild that i had to share
> 
> anyway BLM, treat retail and food service workers like actual people, tip your waitresses, support small businesses, wear a mask, stand up against injustice, and HAVE A GOOD DAY MY FELLOW HIVEMIND READERS AND WRITERS


	2. With the Man in the Wind and the West Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What remained of her fury dissipated. Its pack was gone, ended by her sword. The threat was neutralized. All hylians were by nature ruthlessly cruel, but a cub? A cub was innocent, regardless of circumstance. A cub knew not of the pure hatred brewing in the hearts of hylians.

Purah’s Personal Notes

(The curious will be prosecuted for sticking their noses where they don’t belong.)

Date: ???

Predictably, the ancients speak in tongues. The lore of old comes in cryptic bursts of nonsense, more or less. I don’t know who I have to thank for translating this book, as it’s been published anonymously, but I do hope they know how much time they’ve saved me. Goddess knows how long I’d have spent translating the nuances of archaic Hylian to modern. Studying Guardians for ten odd years has been all shades of complicated thanks to it. 

The history of Hyrule is cyclical; that is to say, incredibly predictable. As far as the Calamity, the Goddess’ Incarnation, and the Hero are concerned at least. From there it diverges into various paths. 

One could spend ages looking into different source materials to discover which are myth, which recall historical truths, and which have bled together to become indistinguishable. However, there are several that can be confirmed through archaeological discoveries and ancient landmarks visible to the current day: the Era of Sky, the Era of Time, and the Era of Twilight. The former two are more well-documented while the latter is rather murky. Some stories simply don’t add up as of yet, and cannot be proven.

But ah, now that’s what I’m here for, now isn’t it? With my position as director of Royal Technical Director liquidated, it would seem I have the time to spend toying with old, unsubstantiated rumors.

Date: ???

The book I nabbed from our ancestral library is a collection of both oral legend and written historical fact from the fabled Era of Twilight. I’m fairly sure whoever owned it quite frankly forgot to take care of it. It’s faded, dusty, and in dire need of restoration...but still legible. I’m handling it with gloves.

Now, I’m certain one might wonder, “Why study the most elusive era over the well-documented ones?” An excellent question! 

Simply put, the Era of Sky and Era of Time both possess a Hero near impossible to track down. According to legend, at least, the Heroes of these ages possess time-bending abilities. Which, to be perfectly honest, would save us all the trouble of our current situation. If only they could be located and word be sent…

I digress. Long-held beliefs about the Era of Twilight tell of how its Hero could travel from place to place instantaneously. Said power was thought to be otherworldly--and whether this is from the Hero himself being extraterrestrial or simply manipulated by outside forces is unclear. Much of this has been debated for decades.

No proof of such technology has ever been uncovered...until now, that is. Whether it truly has any connection is the question. But, certainly, it opens up many possibilities.

Date: ???

After years of tinkering, we’ve uncovered further runes on the Sheikah Slate. So far, we’ve discovered that it can create explosives, freeze water into blocks, magnetize metal objects, and manipulate time.

The Sheikah Slate’s Stasis rune allows the user to (temporarily) cease the flow of time on an object or individual. It cannot, however, reverse the flow of time, increase the flow of time, or control it in any substantial manner. Hence time travel is out of the question. The concept will be shelved for another occasion, perhaps. Despite the limitations in that respect, something that the Sheikah Slate shows incredible promise in is spatial distortion.

Items can be stored and retrieved, bombs can be materialized, and in the case of this world’s Hero, even people can be transported from place to place. Supposedly. We never had the opportunity to test this with...the situation being what it was.

I want to explore what other runes may be hidden within the device, and how far we can stretch their capabilities.

Date: ???

Dealing with the vagueness of oral tradition is absurdly mind-numbing. I need dates and approximate time figures. Work on the Sheikah Slate, though daunting at times, is like child’s play compared to this kind of guesswork. At the very least it has sense behind its sealed programming.

Eras do not have clear beginnings or ends. It’s as if the ancestral peoples were happy to wave their hands and ignore the passage of time. I’m beginning to ponder if the Era of Twilight ever truly happened at all. The stories have some consistency; there are references to places such as Arbiter’s Grounds (which has long since crumbled into the desert), Kakariko Village, and Hyrule Castle. It even makes mention of a city in the sky akin to the Era of Sky. And yet--there are enough divergences that it’s as if it truly took place in another world entirely, some alternative timeline. 

An intriguing concept. I’ll have to note the idea for reference later on. It may yet come in handy.

The information I seek, specifically, is in regards to Hero reincarnations. How many years pass between each Calamity event, individual rebirth, and what is it that draws them out? Is it divine intervention, or random chance? Are Hero incarnations born outside of the cycle of the Calamity, or are they intimately tied with the birth of the princesses of Hyrule and her greatest foe? There’s not a single account of this subject.

We cannot make the dead breathe once more. Thus, we must wait for our Hero to be born again. And I must say, I’m becoming impatient. I’ve gained a nephew and grand-niece in the time it’s taken the Hero to mull it over.

I keep tabs on travelers passing through Hateno for any word of a boy who matches Link’s general description. Nothing. Where is he? If he insists on leaving us to deal with this great Calamity ourselves I’ll have to go and find some other Hero to clothe in the Champion’s Tunic. I’m not picky.

Now then...I’ve also been working on a, “Plan B,” project regarding the de-aging of retired soldiers…

* * *

A scene of pure carnage is strewn across the valley.

The lyness narrows her eyes at the numerous hylian corpses that lay at her feet; torn and bloodied, eyes bulging in frozen screams. She snorts, turns, and trots to the carriage-beast. It, too, lay crushed by her sword, its odd legs splintered by her tough hooves. The horse tethered to it was now freed, galloping into the distance toward the hill of the False Beast.

Just beyond it all, a little dark body lay among the tall grass. Her vicious curled lips soften. Her foal. Lifeless and still, hylian arrows thrust into his ribcage. Only but minutes before had it been frolicking alongside her, gleefully hunting for frogs and restless crickets with bright eyes. He had been so young, she hadn’t gotten to know him long enough to name her child. Now all she could think of was his wretched yowl of agony, how he tumbled when he fell, how the hylians ran when they encountered his infuriated mother.

She comes to kneel beside him, rumbling low, solemn words of sorrow. Each arrow is removed and placed beside him. Then, she rears onto her hind legs, kicks the air, and roars to the sky in a final sendoff, a cry to the heavens for her foal’s acceptance.

_Let him roam the skies as he did the fields of this earth_ , she thinks, eyes on the passing clouds above. _Free from burden of body, free from fear of mind._

Something behind her stirs. Her ears perk as she detects a shrill, muffled cry. She immediately has her hand upon her sword, ready to rip open any hylian that may still be moving. None so much as twitch in the breeze.

The cry comes again, and this time she pinpoints it; from within the carriage. Cautiously, she trots toward it, eyes narrowed, body tense. Through the torn white skin of the beast, she identifies many a hylian creation. Odd wooden cubes with various scents, cloth, metal tools, makeshift weapons. Fruits and vegetables. Meat. Everything reeks of hylian. But none more so than…

A crate filled with white cloth squirms. It whines, wriggles around like a nest full of chicks. She sniffs it, then yanks back the coverings, fully expecting more bizarre hylian trickery--only to find a bright blue-eyed, blonde-furred hylian cub looking back at her.

The tension in her shoulders eases. She releases her grip on her sword. The cub stares up at her, eyes wide and mouth open. Not with fear, like its dead counterparts, but with wonder.

What remained of her fury dissipated. Its pack was gone, ended by her sword. The threat was neutralized. All hylians were by nature ruthlessly cruel, but a cub? A cub was innocent, regardless of circumstance. A cub knew not of the pure hatred brewing in the hearts of hylians.

She’s careful with her touch, letting only her thumb pass over the cub. It’s so very small, delicate; she could fit it in the palm of her hand and with one claw crush it. Its tiny, stubby fingers grasp her thumb, rubbing the pad and fur over and over with enthusiasm. The wispy tuft of a mane growing from its head was soft as down, and far thinner.

If she leaves it, it will die like the others. She closes her eyes. Perhaps for the best. One less hylian in the world would do it good. And yet…

_Yet_ \--

As if plucking a fragile nightshade, she lifts the cub into the palm of her hand. It squirms, babbles, whines with some uncertainty. She is, after all, not its mother, nor a familiar scent. Despite its reservations, she holds it close to her chest. Warm and safe. Protected. 

An eye for an eye, a hoof for a hoof. A foal for a foal. Her eyes drift back to her fallen child, ears drooping.

_This will not happen again_.

* * *

All lynel carried their heads high with pride. But only a fool wouldn’t kneel before a benevolent god.

She trots forward, just shy of the pool at the base of the cherry blossom tree, then lowers herself down into a graceful bow. The blupees perk up at the sound of her hooves rustling in the grass and scatter. At the center of the wading pool is the lord of the mountain himself, hooves only partially submerged within the warm water. He turns slowly to gaze upon her.

“Satori,” she says. “I ask for your blessing.”

His voice appears in her head; a slow, steady exhale through the mouth amidst a gust of wind. Satori does not speak language--he says no words, asks no questions--yet, somehow, everything he wishes to convey is translated perfectly to her. 

_Do you bestow this being upon me in remorse or vengeance?_

She lifts her head to meet his eyes. They remind her of the sun; glaring yet filled with life-giving warmth, otherworldly and beyond anything of her realm.

Then, her gaze turns to the tiny bundle tucked into her breast. It still stinks of hylian, but she feels no hatred toward the sleeping cub curled up within the cloth. Though she doesn’t wish to disturb him, she gently reveals him to Satori. His tiny blue eyes flutter open, dart around, and then settle on Satori. They widen, but he makes no sound. No fear. Only more of that same wonder she’d seen before.

Her mind flashes back to earlier; her foal, the hunting party, her fury. A cold flame of loathing scalds her heart, and she falters for but a moment, closing her eyes. If things had gone even slightly differently...had she not allowed him to stray beyond the mountain and into the valley… Her lips curl into a small snarl.

No. She cannot succumb to rage once more.

“I do not regret slaying his pack,” she says. “However, I hold no grudge against this one. He carries no burden of evil within him. Though it may be unconventional, I wish to raise him on your mountain.”

A heartbeat. A slow exhale, inhale. Satori’s eyes blink in unison. He does not respond. He does not need to; he is a reader of souls. Then, he trots forward through the water without disturbing it. His glow reflecting upon the surface is almost blinding. The lyness’ ears start to ring--though whether it comes from Satori’s ethereal being or from the overwhelming silence around them she isn’t sure.

The tuft of fur between his dual faces twitches, elongates, and dips into the water. Like the trunk of an elephant, it rises up to touch the tiny hylian cub, who squirms and squeals as the cool water drips onto him.

The foggy glow of the peak wanes, Satori turns, and the lyness immediately drops her gaze to the water. To stare upon the mountain god’s back was disrespectful. The fog thins, thins, then dissipates entirely. She and the cub are alone under the blossoms.

From this point onward, the cub is no longer _hylian_ ; foreign, alien, destruction. He is _hers_ and, by extension, a child of the mountain.

[Awesome fanart done by Val](https://twitter.com/Cam3ulia)!


	3. Though Lovers Be Lost, Love Shall Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A distant clap of thunder catches his ear. He perks them up and turns toward the sound. Far away but still visible on the horizon is that shadowy place, with its huge pointy mountains and weird swirling purple clouds. Even though there aren’t any storms there, nor does he see lightning, he still hears thunder crashing down. It makes strange growls that sound like moblins sometimes, too. Almost like it’s trying to talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm honestly really surprised at all the comments and bookmarks I've gotten so far on this piece! I was planning to make a queue and post it weekly after this just to maintain some sanity, but!! It's hard not to go ahead and post when I finish, haha. You guys are swell.

A freshly-lit fire blazes in the center of the Bokoblin camp. An adult and three young orange Bokoblins jump up and down around it, crooning and snorting with glee. From the bushes just feet from them, he watches, eyes narrowing. A pointed branch is in his hands, his leather and fur armor covering his legs and upper body.

Closer…

He shuffles through the grass. The wild, unruly Bokoblins suspect nothing of their attacker. 

Closer... _closer_...

“HYAAA!”

With a shrill roar, he jumps from the bushes, racing toward them with bare feet, brandishing his weapon. The younger ones gasp, rushing to a fallen log where their own pile of small clubs rested. He jabs his spear through the air with a few _ha!_ , _huh!_ , and _hyeh!_ ’s. They falter. Ha! He grins. No lowly Bokoblins would destroy him.

Just when he’s about to unleash his final attack, a battle cry echoes from the boulder towering above them. A little black Bokoblin, armed with a stick, plows him right into the ground. He drops his weapon, sputtering and spitting out the dirt he eats. And then, it raises its stick high to deliver the finishing blow--

“-Ow!” he yelps as he’s unceremoniously bumped on the head with the stick.

“Gotcha!”

The Bokoblin sitting on his back honks with laughter that’s followed by his siblings, who’re hitting their sticks together in applause. He pushes the Bokoblin off of him and sticks out his tongue as though he’s offended by being beaten up and dirtied. Yet, he can’t wipe the grin off of his face. Especially not when the Bokoblin children rush him, all snorts and snuffles.

“No fair, Fours,” he whines at the black Bokoblin. “It was supposed to be a ground fight! The big rock’s off limits, remember?”

“Ain’t nothin’ off limits when you’s fightin’!” Fours replies with an open-mouthed grin. “You’s left yer back all open, ‘course I’s gonna getcha when you’s not lookin’.”

The cub flushes in embarrassment and shoves Fours roughly, but all it does is make him giggle relentlessly. Fours then offers one three-fingered hand and helps him up off of the ground. The pointed sticks are forgotten in the grass. As are the cub and Fours when the other children--Ones, Twos, and Threes--scurry back to their mother, who’s busy roasting freshly-caught bass over their campfire.

“Oughta show me that one someday,” the cub whispers. “You’re really good at sneaking…”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I’s got brothers,” Fours replies. “‘N they’s bigger ‘n me, so they’s take all the food. Gotta be sneaky if I’s wanna eat, yeh?”

The cub watches Fours’ siblings. Sure, they’re annoying, and loud, and stinky...but they’re all a lot of fun to play with. All the Bokoblins are. They’re great at wrestling and know how to make all kinds of weapons. Really, he kinda wishes he wasn’t an only child. Spending the day with his best friend’s family is the closest he’ll ever get.

“You’re lucky,” the cub says as he comes to settle by the fire with the others. “I wish I had a brother to teach me stuff.”

“Yeh?” Fours snorts. “Y’ain’t missin’ much, trust me’s.”

“Naw, c’mon,” Ones cuts in. “You’s luv us, don’tcha, Fours?”

“If you’s really wanna, we’s can adoptcha!” Twos adds. “What’sa ‘nother brother ‘round here, yeh, Ma?”

Their mother looks toward them, then the cub, and grunts. “Eh. I’m babysittin’ ‘im enuff t’be ‘is ma anyway,” she says.

“Yeh!! We gots a Fives!”

The cub wrinkles his brow and tilts his head to the side. “Fives? Why Fives?”

“‘Cuz Fives comes after Fours,” Fours replies matter-of-factly. “Plus--you’s got fives, yeh?” He seizes the cub’s wrist and holds out his five-digit hand for all to see. The other three bokoblin children snort and snark as they play with the cub’s fingers. “See?”

“Lookit ‘em all!”

“Woah! Tha’s so weird! You’s got too many, Fives!”

“Hey-!” the cub whines, trying to tug his hand away. “You’re just jealous ‘cuz I can count more than you with ‘em!”

“Nuh-uh!” Threes chimes in.

“Don’ need more ‘n sixes!” Ones adds.

“Oh yeah?” the cub counters. “Then what d’you do if there’s more than sixes? What comes after sixes?”

That effectively silences the Bokoblins, as they exchange stumped glances and scratch their heads. Ones looks at his three-fingered hands and tries to count. Threes lets out a frustrated noise that sounds more akin to a goat. Fours just frowns at him, and huffs when the cub holds out seven fingers.

“This many!” he says with pride. “Mom showed me. Cuz she’s got the same fingers.”

The Bokoblins groan collectively, plopping down on their rears to pout. Fours, meanwhile, plays with the cub’s extra appendages. He can’t count past six--seven now--but he’s curious, that’s for sure. That’s why he’s the cub’s best friend out of all of them. Whatever Mom doesn’t teach him, Fours shows him.

Speaking of… His ears perk to the sound of hooves on gravel. He turns, and catches sight of Mom trotting towards the camp. Her bow and sword are stowed, a sign that she’s finished her scouting work for the day. He grins and races to her.

“Ah, you’s finally come fer ‘im, yeh, Ziira?” the Bokoblin mother speaks up in between bites of crunchy bass. “Damn near adopted th’ thing. Y’oughta be careful ‘round my’s boys.”

As the cub grabs fistfuls of Mom’s fur to drag himself onto her back, she eyes him with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh?” she says, clearly amused.

“Yeh!” Fours chirps. “He’s Fives now.”

The cub makes a face at his friend, who snorts through his nose. Mom rumbles in amusement, shakes her head. “Unfortunately, he’s already spoken for,” she replies. “He’ll be coming home with me tonight. But you are welcome to borrow him again during the day.”

The Bokoblins seem disappointed to see them leave, but only protest in squeaks and defeated snorts before settling down. Mom trots off down the well worn path leading around the mountain. Soon, the camp is out of site, and they’re ascending the grassy slopes of Satori Mountain towards home.

Still, the cub’s eyes face the direction where his friends are, head full of thoughts.

“Mom? I’ve been wondering something,” the cub calls out. His mother grunts in response. “How come Fours and his brothers have names but I don’t?”

“It’s different for our kind, love,” she answers. “Names are not merely labels as it is with the Bokoblin. As we grow, they are earned. Your name will fit who you are, not what _I_ happen to see.” She rumbles again, eyeing him. “Or else I’d have named you Two-Legs. Or perhaps Short-mane.”

He sticks out his tongue. “I guess Fives isn’t _so_ bad…”

“I don’t believe it’s a nickname given spitefully,” she continues. “He is your friend, is he not?” The cub nods. “Perhaps he does so out of fondness. Not all find it acceptable to be without a title, and you are not simply another creature to him, after all.”

“I don’t want to be Fives forever, though,” he replies. “How long til I get a name?”

“In due time, cub. In due time.”

Mom crosses the distance of the mountain so easily, like there’s no sheer cliff faces, large stones, or rock slides to scale. In fact, he’s sure Mom’s hooves are even stronger than the mountain they walk on. He’s always wanted hooves to run as fast as Mom. The bokoblins have hooves. Feet are okay, great for tree climbing (which neither mom nor his friends can do), but they hurt when he steps on rocks and sticks. 

Crows caw and flap away as they approach their home, nestled between three great boulders atop the mountain. The cub slips from Mom’s back and races forward. The grass is soft, the dirt fine, as he’s already tossed all the stones laying around in piles or off the mountain. It’s the perfect place to run around.

Mom already lit the cooking pot and stowed her tools away in their chest. He sniffs the air, trying to scent the ingredients and get a hint at what she’s planning to cook.

“Smells like…” he starts, inhaling deeply. His eyebrows furrow as he wiggles his nose, only able to pick up on the strong scent of the shortleaf pines surrounding them. “...Trees. We’re not eating trees, are we?”

Mom rumbles. “No, love,” she says. “Not tonight.”

She lowers her pack off of her shoulder. He scrambles over to it, sniffing at the flap over the front of the bag. It’s bigger than he is, enough so that he’s crawled inside and slept before. So it’s great at hiding things underneath other things. However, he’s determined to develop smelling skills as good as everyone else.

After taking a few good whiffs of the bag, he looks toward mom with a knowing smile. “Smells like meat!” he says. “And…” Another sniff. “Carrots? And...somethin’ else…”

“Herbs,” Mom supplies for him. He huffs. “You need a balanced diet if you’re to continue growing, young one.”

Well, there’s a convincing argument. Especially when Mom’s clawed hands open her bag and pluck out the ingredients. His eyes sparkle. Right now, his own hands are small; he can barely wrap his whole hand around one of Mom’s fingers. But if herbs can make _his_ hands that big…

Mom sets to work chopping up the ingredients; first the raw meat, which she identifies as venison, then the Tabantha wheat she gathered. The cub helps by chopping up endura carrots from the mountain top--slowly, so his fingers don’t become part of the stew too. He’s not great at cooking, but, considering how much he loves food, he wants to be.

Soon, they toss all the ingredients together into the pot. Mom stirs it slowly, mixing all the various bits into a tasty, meaty smelling stew. The cub licks his lips.

A distant clap of thunder catches his ear. He perks them up and turns toward the sound. Far away but still visible on the horizon is that shadowy place, with its huge pointy mountains and weird swirling purple clouds. Even though there aren’t any storms there, nor does he see lightning, he still hears thunder crashing down. It makes strange growls that sound like moblins sometimes, too. Almost like it’s trying to talk to him. He tilts his head to the side.

“Never you mind that,” Mom assures him. “It won’t bother you here.”

The cub nods. He wasn’t, and isn’t, bothered by the sight. Never has been, really. Some part of him knows that he _should_ be concerned about it; everyone on the mountain is scared of it like it’s gonna come kill them. Yet…

His eyes remain on the place even as he gobbles down his dinner. He’d never tell mom about it, but he feels as though he’s meant to go there.


	4. They Sink Through the Sea, They Rise Again

He’s in a forest. Or, well, he supposes he is.

It’s dark. Not  _ night _ , rather something altogether different. It’s almost an entity in itself; a thick, foggy presence settling around him. He looks in every direction; nothing. It’s all the same pitch-black. But he can hear the rustle of leaves in the wind, the grunts of boar and deer in the bush. He can’t tell how far, or how close, they are. Everything is tantalizingly out of reach.

Then come the footsteps. Loud and heavy, not like any animal he’s ever heard before. With every step the beings  _ rumble _ ,  _ clank _ , and  _ clatter _ , as if they were a great Talus made of thousands of Pebblits. 

He cannot see them. But they’re approaching, and quickly.

_ Clink clink clink. Whiiiirr. Tick-tick-tick-tick tick-tick-tick-tick. _

His heart races. 

What? What  _ is _ that sound? Why is he so afraid of it? 

He whips his head around in a desperate effort to locate the source. But it’s--it’s everywhere. It’s coming from every angle. A swarm.

Beams slice through the dark. Small red spots illuminate his upper torso, covering it. The clanking gets louder, louder--like thunder--until he sees a single blue, glowing eye. The light pulsates as it glowers down at him.

_ Beep beep beep beep beep. _

The air itself thickens til it feels like he’s underwater. His lungs squeeze. He wants to run, run as fast and as far away as he can. Yet--something holds him firmly in place, standing strong. Some sense of determination. Like he  _ has _ to do this. 

His gaze is locked to the invisible titan. The eye begins to glow white-hot.

_ Briii-nk. _

**_“NO!”_ **

A scream cuts through him. The eye disappears in a blast of white light as bright as the sun. It’s blinding. And safe; he suddenly feels overwhelmed by a sense of security--

It all goes black once more. 

He sinks into the ground as if it were the sea. The scream fades slowly, slowly, as does everything else.

* * *

A harsh kick in the cub’s side rouses him from slumber.

“Fives!” Fours hisses just below a whisper. “C’mon, you’s gotta wake up. Up up!”

The cub scrunches up his face, turns away from his energetic friend, and curls up into a ball on their bed of furs. It’s daylight out, that much he can tell, but it’s early  _ early _ daylight. And as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have to move until noon if he wants to. Fours, however, is determined. He seizes the cub’s arm and shakes him.

“Eehh…” the cub groans. “Go ‘way, I’m sleeping…”

“If you’s keep sleepin’, you’s gonna miss ‘em!” Fours whines.

That draws the cub’s attention. He tiredly opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder. “Miss what?” he asks.

Fours snorts out a quiet giggle, wiggling in excitement. Then, he hurries out of the bokoblin cave, gesturing for the cub to follow. Said person sighs, sits up, and rubs his eyes. The rest of the bokoblin family is snoring around him, out cold until the late morning probably.

Mom usually makes him get up at sunrise to take care of a few things on the mountain, but when she’s out on, “official lynel business,” as she calls it, he gets to slip into the bokoblin schedule. Which is way more fun. They don’t care how much he sleeps or what he eats.

That said, he’s not  _ too _ tired. He stands up and hurries out after Fours, blinking away the drowsiness. His friend has run out beyond the lake, through the campsite, and now is perched atop a boulder. He gestures rapidly at him, beckoning him closer. The cub climbs up next to him, with a bit of effort. Fours is lucky he grows faster...

“Look look look,” he says, pointing insistently at the valley resting just at the base of the mountain. “See’s ‘em? They’s not ‘ere much, but I saw’s ‘em yesterday, too!”

The cub squints, scanning the grassland for what exactly Fours was seeing. Grass, grass, a few small trees...oh. Oh! 

His mouth drops open. Trotting through the grass in a straight line like a group of ducks were three horses. One black, one blue, and one brown with white spots. His eyes widened. Once in a while a horse passes by far, far in the distance. This is the very first time he’s seen one this close to home. Though still distant, he can make out some features; they’re awfully similar to Mom with their powerful body and tough hooves, but their faces are long and soft. Their manes remind him of his own fine, stringy hair.

Fours nudges him with his elbow. “I's gonna get closer,” he whispers.

“What?” the cub whips his head around to stare at Fours in disbelief. “Mom says we’re not supposed to go down there. It’s dangerous. What if there’s...” He glances around them, and lowers his voice. “... _ Hylians _ down there?”

Fours scans the area, sniffs the air, then scans it again. With a shrug, he looks back at the cub with a grin.

“Don’t smells none,” he says. “Don’t sees none either! No Hi-leans!”

Before the cub can protest, Fours leaps off the boulder and bounds down the mountain. He gapes at his friend, paralyzed by fear. Mom told him over and over and over that he shouldn’t ever climb down from the mountain. That it’s dangerous down there. That there are creatures who’d hurt him down there, if he strayed too far.

Yet…there goes Fours, happily rustling through the tall grass toward the horses. Not a care in the world. The cub growls a bit to himself; he’s kind of jealous of how boldly carefree the bokoblins are.

(And maybe he’s a bit anxious, too. He knows Fours will tease him later for acting like a cucco. Not that he’s scared. He just...doesn’t want Mom to get mad at him. That’s all.)

With a deep breath to puff out his chest, the cub scurries down the slope toward his friend, who repeatedly gestures for him to come closer--no no,  _ closer _ \--until they’re stooped low in the grass beyond the mountain.  _ Off _ the mountain. The cub feels his nerves turn cold and twist into knots. They shouldn’t be here. They really really shouldn’t be here. And if they head back now they--they could--

A horse whinnying draws him back to reality. He peeks up above the grass. The little herd is so close--just feet away from them. His eyes go wide. Never has he ever been this close to them. He can pick up on their scent; dry mud, herbivore feces, animal dander, and a hint of wheatgrass. It’s a lot like Mom, in a way.

Fours nudges him. When he turns, his friend thrusts an apple into his hands.

“They’s likes it when you’s give ‘em foods,” Fours whispers, shaking an endura carrot in his own hand. “‘Specially these’s. But’cha gotta be sneakin’ or they’s get scared. Watch watch!”

The cub hunkers down in the grass, staring at Fours’ back as he squats down low and hobbles through the weeds. He has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing; Fours looks like a frog trying to walk upright when he sneaks around. The horses have yet to notice his awkward friend lumbering around. Their attention is focused on the grass at their feet, which they greedily consume.

At least, until the endura carrot pops up over the top of it.

All three of their heads jerk upright to attention, ears turning to focus. Their nostrils flare and they grunt. Fours shakes the carrot a bit. Though reluctant--the cub knows horses are easy to scare--they’re clearly highly interested. They seem to mull it over individually, some shaking their heads and stomping their feet. One, however, is braver than the rest.

The blue horse steps forward slowly, one foot at a time, sniffing at the air as he approaches Fours and the carrot. The cub holds in a breath. An animal that big could seriously hurt Fours; stomping, biting, a blow to the head, even just its weight alone could crush him. It trots closer...ever closer--and yanks the carrot away without incident. 

It crunches noisily on the vegetable, dropping small orange bits as it chews. Fours giggles. The cub releases his breath and, gradually, makes his way over to his friend’s side.

“I’s give this one foods ‘fore,” he says. “Is okay.” Without hesitation, he pats the horse on the nose. It snorts. “Not Hi-leans. Not gonna takes ‘im nowheres, yeh?”

The cub swallows thickly, eyes glued to the horse. It’s big--not big like Mom, but still big enough to make him wary. Once finished with the carrot, it blinks at him, lowers its snout, and scents the apple in his hands. He giggles as it waggles its lips and seizes the fruit with its teeth.

“Kinda rude, huh?” the cub says meekly. “Didn’t even ask for it…”

“Yeh, that’s horses for you’s!”

The blue horse sniffs at him, nostrils flaring, nose bumping him. He probably  _ does _ smell like food; him and the Bokoblins spent the day yesterday playing in the orchard. With some hesitation, he reaches out to pat the horse on the head. It grunts in surprise, jerks away, and backs off. The other horses follow suit; soon, the tiny herd is galloping away from the two kids, leaving them alone in the field.

“Aww…” the cub moans.

“Is okay, they’s just nervous cuz they’s don’t know you’s, s’all,” Fours says. “We’s bring them more food next time, too, then they’s wanna come closer.”

Next time? The cub wonders what’s wrong with going after them  _ this _ time--that is, until he notes how the sun is rising higher in the sky. Right. They’d better get back before Fours’ mom notices they’re down here. She’s scary when she gets mad.

“How’d you learn to ride a horse anyhow?” he asks Fours as they hike back up the mountainside.

“Ma caught Ones ‘n Twos ridin’ em a while ago,” he replies. “I made ‘em show me’s how t’do it too.” He laughs, nose twitching as he snorts. “She’s tryin’ ta stop us, but she’s ain’t awake all the time! Heheheh…”

The cub ponders this. “...And you never run into any Hylians?”

“Nuh-uh. They’s don’t come out here’s a lot,” he says. “Sometimes we’s sees ‘em, but they’s scared of us. So they’s run really fast!”

Hm. While he knows that Hylians are a bunch of scaredy cats, Mom’s told him many, many times how unpredictable they can be. One minute they might run, another, they’ll turn and fight. They’re notorious for invading forests, mountains, the desert--no territory is off limits. And people like him and Fours? They wouldn’t think twice about snuffing them out.

As they ascend, the horses of the plain become smaller and smaller, nothing but little specks in the landscape. The cub looks upon them with some resolution to come back--cautiously, of course. He’s definitely going to ride that blue one next time.

Before they can get too far away, however, he picks up on the distant echo of a horse’s cry. Up on the ridge, amidst the sea of grass beside the False Beast, he can make out the fluttering of a golden mane. His ears perk. A white horse lifts its head. It's dark eyes seem to focus on him, specifically.  _ Knowingly _ . He tilts his head to the side. There’s something...strangely familiar about it. He’s never seen it before, knows he’s never seen it before, and yet--

Something buried at the back of his mind itches at him.

“Eh? Oh!” Fours pops up alongside him, startling the cub out of his thoughts. “You’s see the white one, yeh? Never seen it this close ‘fore.”

The horse snorts, shakes its head, and trots off into the distance, disappearing beyond the hill of the False Beast. The cub huffs. He wants to follow it, see where the thing leads him. But. They’ve already been in an out-of-bounds area, but anything over the hill is  _ really _ off limits.

(Maybe next time.)


	5. Nail the Merry Squires to the Trees

An arrow pierces the thick bark of a tree. A crow caws loudly and bursts from the branches. Followed by another, and another, then a dozen, then the whole flock ascends out of reach. The cub sighs.

The bokoblin family, which he would’ve been spending time with, is out as it’s close to dinner. Which means hunting. Which means traveling off of the mountain in search of animals. Which means...he has to stay there. On the mountain. Because it’s Mom’s rule that he’s not allowed to go anywhere when she’s gone.

And he’s actually resorted to bow practice. He’s  _ that _ bored.

Picking apples got boring quickly; most of the apples are already picked. Throwing rocks off the side of the mountain got boring once all the rocks got too big for him to push. Collecting mushrooms...well, he’d love to do that one. But. Last time he did, he ate one that wasn’t supposed to be eaten. And while the horses are oh so tempting, he's not tempted enough to risk Mom's wrath should she catch him out in the field.

So now he’s just--sitting on the ledge, among the few trees, looking out at the land far beyond Satori Mountain, shooting at the birds. He prefers a sword over the bow and arrow, really, so he’s not that great at it. He misses most of the time. The only stuff he can hunt is fruit.

Mom’s supposed to be back that evening. And he’s impatient,  _ especially _ when he can hear the echoes of the bokoblin hunting party. Their battle cries are fierce. The animal squeals; it sounds like a boar. He chews his cheek, trying to ignore the envy brewing in his gut.

(Boy, he’d  _ love _ to take down a  _ boar _ . Wouldn’t  _ that _ be something for Mom to come home to?)

He plops down onto the grass below him, in the shade of a large oak tree, staring off into space. This spot has a good view of the surroundings without being too close to the valley. It’s why he chose it. Normally, it’s one of his favorites; he likes to spot things in the distance, and he’s so deeply curious about the split mountain far, far away. But...well, today, he’s annoyed that every time he looks, Mom isn’t out there trekking towards him. She’s late.

“C’mon, Mom…” he grumbles to himself, glaring through the treetops--

Wait.

Has that giant acorn always been there?

Tucked into a hole in the great oak above him is a huge acorn. Far bigger than any he’s ever found. He sits up. Now he knows for a fact that, when he was playing out here yesterday and the day before, there weren’t any acorns. Or any squirrels to move the acorns. Heck, it’s probably even  _ bigger _ than a squirrel, isn’t it?

“Hmm…” 

He squints at it. Then, his eyebrows raise and a grin crosses his face. Maybe the birds are bad targets, but he can  _ definitely _ split that thing in two.

He steps back a fair distance from the tree, stands up, and holds his bokoblin bow the way Mom showed him how. His first instinct is to hit it immediately, as quickly as possible. Wouldn’t it be cool if he could? But, alas, a tip Mom told him once echoes in his ear:  _ don’t look, just shoot. _ At the time he didn’t get it, but now…

No, wait, he still doesn’t get it. She  _ does _ know more about bows and arrows than he does, though. Even if it’s silly, it’s worth trying. He slips an arrow into position, and then closes his eyes. He swears he can feel the phantom touch of her finger pads on his sides and arms, nudging him into the stance of a proper archer.

_ Don’t worry about where your arrow lands _ , her voice tells him calmly.  _ Focus on your form _ .

He breathes in; the bowstring is drawn back. 

Then  _ out _ ; he releases the arrow. It whizzes through the air. 

Something pops like an inflated octo balloon. 

He opens his eyes. The arrow hit its mark and is stuck dead-center in the tree. The “acorn”--which he’s fairly sure isn’t an acorn now--has exploded to bits. The cub frowns. Acorns don’t explode. At least, not like  _ that _ they don’t. As he steps forward to investigate, a second loud  _ pop _ startles him. A burst of leaves spews from the trees, revealing some kind of plant creature that jingles like a wooden bowl full of chickaloo nuts.

“ _ Yahaha! You found-- _ ” the tiny creature stops jingling. “ _ You’re not Hestu! _ ”

“Who’s Hestu?”

“ _ Oh, he’s this great big blundering, budding buffoon who… _ ” the creature trails off, instead perking up. “ _ Wait a cherry-pickin’ minute! You can see me? You can understand me?! _ ”

The cub frowns. “...Yes?”

“ _ Wao--ow! It’s been a really really reeeeally long time since anyone could see us! _ ” The spinning leaf it dangles from suddenly withdraws, and it drops. The cub flinches and lunges to catch it. It’s completely unperturbed by almost having fallen to its (supposed) death. “ _ I’m Lassie! Hide-and-seek expert! Nice to meetcha! _ ”

He regards the tiny being in his hands; she feels like a freshly dug up radish on the outside. Or maybe a chickaloo nut. She’s shockingly light and may even be hollow. The mask she wears betrays no hidden facial features, which is...unsettling. He tilts his head. She mimics him.

“What...are you?” he asks.

“ _ Whaddya mean, ‘what are you’? I’m a Korok, dumbiedumb! _ ” Lassie replies. “ _ What kinda acorn-brain knows how to talk to us but doesn’t even know what we are, huh? _ ” She shakes her head. “ _ Hylians are so weird. _ ”

Whatever genuine curiosity he had fades with that comment. His eyebrows furrowed as he scowls at the Korok in his hands.

“I’m not a Hylian,” he deadpans.

“ _ Uh-huh. And I’m a big hearty radish _ .” Lassie sighs and shakes her head, jingling with dismay. “ _ You don’t even know what you are! Sheesh! You’re one messed up kid. _ ”

The way she says it--as if it’s so  _ plainly _ obvious--sours his stomach. How can this creature just--lump him right in with those--those  _ things _ ? He has half a mind to practice his pitch and hurl the lumpy potato creature as far as he can throw. But. His grip on Lassie tightens. He’s not supposed to let his anger take control of him. And what does this thing know about him, anyway?

He holds Lassie to eye level, squints, and then repeats himself. “I’m  _ not _ a Hylian.”

“ _ Okay then, pick some other word. Ordonian? Zonai? Sheikah? _ ” she continues on, tapping one stubby arm to the bottom of her mask. “ _ Or...something else? Bah! You guys use too many labels for the same species. _ ”

“I don’t--”

The high-pitched sound of the rally horn echoes over the hills. The cub perks up. Usually, it’s a deep, even sound. However, it sounds...frenzied. Panicked, even. He stiffens. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

Maybe something went wrong with the hunt? Boars did have tusks, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had been gored. He wasn’t that knowledgeable on healing, but, at the very least, his fingers were nimble enough for stitches and he knew how to boil a red potion. And Mom would know what to do when she came home.

“ _ Wazzat? _ ” Lassie chirps as the rally horn blows again.

He looks down at her, then toward the sound. Right. The potato.

“ _ Wha--Hey!! _ ” Lassie yells as the cub shoves her back into the tree hole. “ _ Hey, what’re you--?? Come back, Mr. Hylian! _ ”

* * *

Darkness begins to cover the hills as the cub scrambles over boulders and through trees to reach the bokoblin cave. Someone blows the rally horn again, louder, more desperate than before. 

As he slides down the mountain slope, he catches sight of Fours atop a tree stump, shaking, with the horn in his hand. He’s shaken to the core; eyes wide, ears pointing upwards, and looks as though he’s seen a Stalblin. His brothers aren’t with him, there’s no sign of the boar he’d heard before. Something is very wrong.

“What’s going on?” the cub calls to his friend. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’s comin’!” Fours yells back. He sounds winded, as if he’s just run for miles. “They’s comin’. Comin’.” He stares off toward the forest beyond the mountain warily as though he doesn’t even believe it for sure. “Comin’...?”

Then, with a shriek of terror, three more bokoblins stampeded up the hill, sweaty from running, weapons mysteriously missing, and faces like they’d stared death in the face. 

The cub doesn’t even have time to ask what on earth happened before they pile into the eye sockets of their cave and huddle at the back. He turns to Fours, opening his mouth to repeat his question--when the loud crack of a tree falling to the ground startles him. 

Immediately his eyes are on the forest. Another massive tree breaks, falls. Something...something is out there. Big enough to break the trees in half like twigs.

“Wh...what is that?” he whispers.

He gets no reply. Fours jumps from his tree stump, seizes him by the arm, and drags him to the cave with the others. Disoriented and confused, he looks back toward the mouth of the cave, at the snapping trees in the distance.

“Where’s Ma?” Four demands.

“She’s not with yeh?” Two shrieks. “We’s thought she’s up here already!”

Another tree falls. Then, only the sound of footsteps. Heavy, rumbling footsteps that shake the ground at their feet. Loose pebbles rattle around them. The bokoblins shiver, huddling in their nests together with eyes wide enough to pop right out of their heads. Despite himself, despite the cold spell of fear freezing his innards, the cub crawls back toward the opening of the cave. He peers out through the mouth.

A misshapen red mountain lumbers over the hill. It squints, licks its chapped lips and yellowed tusks, and flexes its three fingers. All thick hide, ragged clothes, and oily hair; as if someone had taken the worst traits of a boar and a bokoblin and mashed them together in a disgusting gruel. It only has one eye, which bulged from its skull like a misplaced chuchu.

And that eye was trained on them. 


	6. About the Soiled Undead

The fat, stubby hand of the hinox forced its way into the cave, groping blindly for its inhabitants. The children pressed up against the cold stone, quivering in terror. The cub wrinkled his nose. It absolutely reeked. Like sweat, dead skin, and infection.

“Dig!”

“Dig dig dig!!”

The bokoblins screeched as one appendage neared them. Their fingernails frantically clawed at the earth, upturning nesting material, personal items, and pebbles. The cub knew all too well, however, that they were way too big to dig themselves out in time. He watched them in the faint light, noting their ragged breaths and fearful squeals. It feels wrong to see his friends--his normally bold, brash friends who wave clubs-- _ this _ scared.

He reaches for the bow on his back. His blood ices over. There is no bow on his back. 

He feels at the back of his fur ruff, cursing himself. Damn it all, did he drop it when that korok thing showed up--?!

One bokoblin grunts in frustration. A large rock rolls out of the nest and right to his feet. He blinks at it. Right. That’ll do. With some effort, he lifts it onto his shoulders. He glares at the hinox hand, still blinding feeling the dirt. He holds the rock high over his head, tiny arms shaking as he does, and smashes it down.

A loud, blood-curdling wail pierces his ears.

The hand is wrenched back from the cave. The hinox roars and cradles its hand, stomping its feet in a toddler’s temper tantrum. 

“It’s distracted!” the cub yells to his friends. “Run! Run  _ now _ !”

The bokoblins stare, panting and wide-eyed, dumbfounded. Then, they abandon their half-dug tunnel and race toward the entryway in a mess of flailing limbs and redead screaming. The cub quickly follows after, tailing Fours as he and his brothers split in different directions. By the direction alone, the cub knows where he’s going; the cave full of luminous stone. It’s too small for the hinox, but big enough for them to escape through.

Yet he stops dead in his tracks. He turns, looking at the hinox as it glowers at him with its single bulging eye. His heart is rattling against his ribs, almost to the point of aching. Fear is urging him-- _ pleading _ for him to run. 

What drives him now is beyond words; primal and deeply set within his bones. Like a fire in dry grass, the feeling only strives to surge onward, growing stronger with each passing moment. It’s stupid to fight a monster this size. He knows that. And he steps toward the hinox anyway, gaze locked on his new target.

“Fives!” Fours screeches from a distance, voice cracking. “What you’s doing?!”

The hinox pounds at the ground with its fists, snarling and spitting. The cub hops back. Each blow is fast and brutal. He twists, turns, and rolls in split-second decisions. He doesn’t even think. It’s second-nature. 

As the hinox tries to swat him down, he scurries between its legs. It hisses in frustration and chases after him. He looks around for a weapon--a stick, a club, some arrows, anything. Each heavy footfall threatens to knock him off balance. C’mon, he thinks to himself, eyes scanning the camp, there has to be  _ something _ \--!

Old firewood. Seat cushions. Stinky trash. Bokoblin cauldron-

Pot lid!

He swipes the wooden lid right off of the old cauldron and holds the handle tight. Seconds later, the hinox swats him into the bushes. The lid takes the brunt of the attack. It cracks. Better it than his bones. 

Still, the blow leaves him dizzy. He picks himself up, shaking his head as the world spins and blood drips from his nose. The rumble of upturned earth catches his ear. The hinox has momentarily forgotten him in lieu of ripping a tree from the ground. It strips off the branches effortlessly and brandishes it much like one would a heavy bat. The cub's eyes widen. He looks at his cracked pot lid, then at the thick tree trunk. Hm.

No time to think. The hinox bellows out a battle cry and lunges at him. He ducks. The tree bashes the surrounding foliage, tearing through it all like goat butter. He rushes forward, lid above his head.

Frantically, he thinks back to Mom’s advice. All the little tidbits she shared between her rounds guarding the mountain. What would she do, in a situation like this? He flips as the hinox swings again. She’d probably look for weaknesses, right? He notes what he can as he races around the giant cyclops; it’s not wearing armor, its eye is a giant target--but without any arrows, he’s not going to get to it, its stubby legs--

Wait. The legs.

He darts in, fast as his legs can carry him, and jams the edge of the lid into the back of the hinox’s knee. It yelps in surprise. The tree club falls to the ground, as does the full weight of the titan. The cub has to throw himself out of dodge before the thing’s massive rear crushes him.

He catches his breath in heaving gasps as the hinox blubbers like a child. It’s down, but it’s not out. At worst, all he’s done is bruise it and make it angrier. His pot lid defense was in two pieces. Even if he found a bokoblin club or his wooden sword, it wouldn’t do much. The sensible side of him says to run away and hide while he still has all his limbs intact. To find a cave or something to duck away into until the monster lumbers back from whence it came.

Still, that fire is burning within him, white-hot with vigor. His bones ache with desire to fight until that flame is snuffed out. 

His feet hold him firmly in place as the hinox rises and reclaims its tree trunk. It raises the blunt weapon high over its head with both hands and swings it down. The cub hoists the pieces of pot lid above him in a feeble attempt to block the attack--

An arrow wizzes through the air. It combusts upon impact with the hinox’s shoulder. The monster screams as the blaze chars its hide. A flurry of fire arrows follows it, each landing with pinpoint accuracy from the shoulder to wrist. The cub follows the trajectory and is met by the flurry of familiar hooves, white stripes, and curled ram’s horns.

“Mom!” he calls out.

She leaps through the air and lands directly in front of him, quickly exchanging her savage bow for her sword. Her teeth are bared and eyes are narrowed as she drops into a fighting stance. The hinox curls its lip at her as it holds its now useless bloody right arm. 

Mom gives it no time to retaliate. She charges, swiping rapidly. It shrieks as it’s thrown back by the sheer power behind each blow. Despite her size, she leaps so quickly around the battlefield that the cub can barely follow her. A strike here. A slash there. A blast of fiery breath unleashed from above. She goes for its knees; one heavy cut rips through bone and tendon and fells the beast. His eyes are sparkling. 

As it lays upon the ground gasping and gargling, thick, dark blood leaking from its wounds, Mom circles it. She’s growling lowly, ears flattened, prepared for the final blow. The hinox, despite everything, seems determined to keep fighting, as though compelled by some force greater than itself. It drags itself forward with one arm, toward Mom. 

She draws her bow. One shot through the eye ruptures it. The hinox finally collapses in a heap of mangled flesh.

There’s a beat of tense, heavy silence, as though it might come alive again. The cub is breathing heavily. His body still quivers with adrenaline. Mom approaches the fallen hinox and bumps it with one hoof. It doesn’t respond. The tension immediately leaves her shoulders. She replaces her bow upon her back and turns toward her cub. The rage has left her eyes to make way for a gentle worry. She trots to his side in a hurry and kneels to him. He rushes at her, grabbing handfuls of her mane.

“Are you hurt, love?” she asks in a low whisper. “Is anyone else injured? Where are the others?”

He doesn’t answer, far too preoccupied with burying his face in his mother’s chest. It’s safe, familiar, warm, and helps quash some of the lingering trepidation. Her hand rests upon his back in a comfortable weight, not too heavy but not too delicate. It’s strange, he thinks, that this is the same hand that seconds earlier had torn through a titanic monster without a second thought.

“It’s alright,” she says, nuzzling the top of his head with her wet nose. “You are safe now.”

A scuffling makes them both perk up. From the bushes and behind fallen rocks come a rush of bokoblins. All four of them hurry to Mom’s feet, looking around nervously as though the hinox may come back to life at any moment.

“It dead?” Threes asks.

“Looks dead,” Twos replies.

“Someone’s oughta touch it,” One suggests.

Before anyone can act on that suggestion, the corpse of the hinox deflates. It changes from the rusty red of skin to a deep, dark black. The tissues dissolve into a thick, pasty substance that pools around the skeleton of the creature in swirls of glowing, stinking goop. The cub wrinkles his nose at the stench.

“What _ is _ that?” he asks.

Mom doesn’t reply, but the grave look on her face speaks for itself. He eyes the mass as it spreads over the ground. It doesn’t sink into the earth like a liquid. No, it almost seems to float above it, repelled like oil over water. The cub tilts his head, absently wondering if this is what happens to all creatures upon death. Though...deer and boar have never died in such a way on any hunt he’s ever witnessed.

The bokoblins, much unlike him, are fascinated in a completely different way. They’re focused on it with a bizarre amazement, as though it were still very much alive.

“It’s…”

“It’s talking?” Twos tilts his head to the side. “I hear a voice…”

The cub eyes the ooze on the ground. He listens intently. All he hears is the sound of bubbling bog. He furrows his brow as the bokoblins begin to approach. Their snouts sniff at it curiously, reacting as if the liquified hinox guts were still very much alive.

Mom’s savage blade pierces the ground inches from them. The bokoblins shriek and scramble backwards. Her eyes are wide, scowl fierce, and teeth bared.

“Do  _ not _ touch it,” she snaps.

The cub flinches. Rarely, if ever, does he hear Mom talk in  _ that _ kind of tone. He steps back, despite being a fair distance away, looking at the slime warily. If Mom is  _ that _ serious, then it must be  _ really _ bad.

“If you heed the Call,” Mom explains, “You cannot come back from it. Not even in death are you given the luxury of rest.” Her gaze falls upon the bones protruding from the lifeless mass of hinox. “Such was the fate of this poor creature.”

The bokoblins huddle together, shivering, eyeing the ooze with a newly found fear. Mom ushers them away from the corpse with a gentle wave of her hand. The cub takes one last look at the strange dark mass before sauntering after her. With the adrenaline fading, he’s starting to notice how banged up the fight left him. Everything feels bruised. His face, now caked with dried blood, is feeling sticky and gross.

“Where is your mother, children?” Mom asks them.

“Dunno,” Ones replies. “Gots separated.”

“We’s was huntin’, yeh? Caught a boars,” Fours supplies. “Then that thing’s showed up ‘n wanted it so’s we’s ran. Couldn’t find Ma.”

“Hm.” Mom ponders this for a moment. Then, she inclines her head slightly, and continues, “I’ll search for her in the morning. For now, we need to seek shelter. It’s almost the hour of the Stals.”

Though there are grumbles of discontent among the bokoblins, the cub sighs with relief. He’s had enough adventure for one day, and he hadn’t even left the mountain. The fire within him had dwindled to a tiny ember, as if signalling him to rest. However, he knew that this wasn’t over. Something picked at his mind, hinting that the hinox was only an ominous foretelling of what may yet come.


	7. Dawn Breaks Behind the Eyes

The fire has burnt down to cinders. Its warmth is long gone, but the glow remains as a single pinprick of light in the darkness of the den. The cub, having pried himself away from the pile of bokoblins hours ago, shivers and rubs his arms. His clothes are warm in some spots and lacking in others. It’s, admittedly, not the best set of armor for the cold night air.

He’s wide awake, though, despite everything. The night’s events play through his mind over and over again, and every time he remembers the fight he fidgets. His muscles clench, twitch, and jerk involuntarily. It’s impossible to get comfortable.

That, and he can’t stop thinking about that...that ooze stuff. Something about it is so tantalizingly familiar and he has no idea why. So he’s taken to watching the sky lighten with the coming dawn while he ponders it.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

The cub looks up. Mom steps through their camp, muffling her gentle footfalls in the grass, until she’s hovering above him, eyes creased slightly at the corners, a small smile tugging at her lips. He nods to her and turns his attention back toward the horizon. She settles down beside him, legs folding beside the bulk of her body.

“Did you find her?” he asks. She shakes her head. He frowns and, with some hesitance, asks, “Is she…?”

“No. There were no remains to be found,” Mom replies. With a sigh, she stares out toward the strange mountain surrounded by wisps of purple and red. “I only wish that was a  _ good _ sign. Yet, with that hinox’s affliction...I’m inclined to believe otherwise.”

There’s something in Mom’s voice that tips him off to there being something wrong. Not just in the fact that his best friend’s mom is gone. It’s deeper, and leaves him feeling tense. He shuffles closer to her, climbing onto her stiff, bulky legs and pressing into her fluffy torso. Mom’s always the tough one on the mountain. She knows how to handle everything. It’s strange seeing her like this.

The cub eyes the pile of sleeping bokoblins off to the side of their den. Despite everything, they never seem to have trouble sleeping. He’s a bit envious. Mom rubs her fingers on his back in slow, soothing strokes as though she could sense his growing discomfort.

“What’s gonna happen now?” he asks softly.

“Now…” Mom trails off, hums, and then offers him a grin. “It’s a new day, love. As always, we will put our best foot forward.” She looks to the bokoblins. “With circumstances being as they are...I believe our next course of action will be to reunite these pups with their father.”

Father. Right. He did vaguely remember that his friends had another parent. Big, dark, with a gravelly voice. The cub had only seen him on rare occasions when he was far younger. All he knew was that he lived somewhere else. Somewhere far away, beyond Satori’s domain, which meant he couldn’t be around very often.

Far away…

He scowls, grips small handfuls of mom’s mane, and buries into it. Mom, as always, picks up on his change in demeanor.

“Is something bothering you?” she asks.

“You _ just _ got home…” he mumbles into her mane. 

“Indeed I did,” she replies. “One must always account for the unexpected.” She eyes him, rumbling in amusement. “You are troubled by this, hm?” He doesn’t answer, merely curling up into a tighter ball. She chuckles and pats his back. “Oh, love…”

He knows how this is going to go. She’ll say something about how he’ll have to learn how to stand on his own at some point. And...something something...inner strength...Well, he doesn’t remember the rest of that speech. It doesn’t matter. He puffs up his cheeks. He’ll show his  _ inner strength _ by being  _ stubborn _ and  _ sitting on her legs _ until she--

“I’ve told you before, haven’t I? Usually my travels are far too dangerous for you to accompany me,” Mom says. Then, after a beat, she continues, “This time, however...there is no alternative. If I leave you here, you will be alone, and that in itself is far more dangerous.”

He opens his eyes wide. Immediately, he pulls back and stares at Mom, mouth agape.

“Really?” he asks incredulously.

“ _ Really _ .”

All tactical thoughts of being obstinate evaporate. He climbs to his feet, grinning ear to ear. He gets to leave. He gets to go off the mountain.  _ With Mom _ . Whatever minute tiredness that clung to him dissipated, replaced with joyous adrenaline. Should they start packing now? Should he get his weapons? Mom’s bag?

“And where are you headed off to in such a hurry?” Mom asks as he races toward their wooden chest.

“Supplies!” he calls out, before flinching at his own loudness and dropping to a whisper. “...Like food and stuff. You know, like you always get just before you leave?”

Mom hums. “You realize that we will not be leaving until nightfall, don’t you?”

“I know,” he says, then repeats Mom’s saying from a previous lesson, “ _ Light of day keeps the monsters at bay, but the fall of night is the Hylian’s blight. _ ”

This seems to sate her, as she allows him to slink off into the early morning darkness, dragging her too-big bag along the ground. It’s noisy, grinding and scraping with each movement. He knows he should be more careful. But he’s simply too thrilled to think of anything beyond visions of Mom’s travels, him and Fours camping in places they could only dream of, eating tasty things he’s only tried in small amounts.

He mentally lists things to pack; apples, of course, and whatever arrows he could find in their box. Mom would probably want herbs...he sticks out his tongue. There’s already some dried meat stashed away, he knows, which will be an excellent snack for the road. That is, if Mom hasn’t already eaten it all...

Oh! Endura Carrots. There’s plenty at the peak. Those would be great to take with them.

He hurries along the path leading from camp to the peak. The crows lining the barren pines cawed, taking off in a flurry as he approached. He didn’t mind the birds. The mountain was always so quiet, so the chattering of the many, many creatures that gathered upon it made it seem more alive.  The great cherry blossom tree stood proudly, its branches swaying with the breeze and scattering pink petals upon the water’s surface. It’s quiet. But the air’s also crisp, fresh, and fills his head with thoughts of the fresh vegetables hiding in the large tree’s thick roots.

The whole area’s just a bit slippery; everything always seems to be covered in morning dew, and the rocks at the foot of the tree are no different. He climbs over them, through the piles of petals, and sifts through the tall grass for carrot greens. One... Two, three... 

Before he knows it, the eternally-blooming cherry blossom tree becomes engulfed in a luminous haze. The outside world is temporarily shut out by the soft glow surrounding the pond. The silent princesses bloom brightly; their white petals shine through the dense reeds, announcing the coming of daylight. The cub tucks one last carrot into the bag before sliding down to the water’s edge.

The flowers are rare on the mountain, only sprouting in a few spots, but are hardy enough to defy the cold wind of the peak. He gingerly touches the petals, admiring the strokes of blue painting the insides and delicate filaments reaching outward. 

After a moment of thought, he plucks one from the bunch and weaves the stem into one of his braids.

_ Hello, child of Ziira. _

The greeting comes in steady, pulsating breaths, settling like a mist over the cub. He jolts and turns to see Satori behind him. He’s cloaked in blue light, each swirl upon his body shimmering, with his four gleaming eyes focused down on the cub. Though he speaks no words, the cub knows that the steady breathing that permeates the mountain is Satori’s voice.

For a moment, the cub simply stares at him in awe. He’s never seen Satori this close.

“Oh,” the cub says dumbly. Then, he ducks into a polite bow. “Hello Satori.”

Satori bows his head ever so slightly in return. Blupees pop into existence in bursts of blue sparkles and dance at Satori’s feet. Normally skittish, Satori’s peaceful state has them at ease, even around this strange outsider. Some hop up to his feet and onto their haunches to curiously sniff at Mom’s bag.

A low bellow brings him back to reality. Right! Mom told him not to wander off for too long. He grips the heavy bag and splashes through the pond, startling the blupees away in puffs of blue. Just as he reaches the rim of the pond, a gust of wind catches him from behind. It blows his braids, jostles the skeletal branches of the trees below, and whispers something into his ear:

_ Be wary, young one, for it is not yet time to take charge of your destiny. _

He turns to face Satori with wide eyes. The mountain guardian merely blinks before galloping off to disappear in a burst of firefly light. The green fog of the mountain disappears, and the world comes back into focus.

* * *

If there was one chore that the cub thoroughly resented, it was foraging for Tabantha wheat. It was tedious, slow, and involved grabbing sharp blades of grass which left invisible cuts all over his hands. That, and their sickle was getting dull. Which made it all the more annoying.

Mom had settled upon a small hill at the foot of the mountain where she could easily keep an eye on him. There, she diligently sharpened the edge of her blade with a whetstone. He huffs. If only he knew how to use that tool, maybe he could be the one fixing all their weapons and she could be harvesting the wheat. Alas, it’s a skill he’s shown to be noticeably terrible at.

(Yet, somehow, he’s the best grass cutter out of all the mountain monsters. Mom’s even joked that he’d had practice in a previous life. If it wasn’t so mind-numbing, and didn’t bring back an odd sense of deja-vu, he’d find it funnier.)

As he sawed away at another handful of wheat, a sound catches his ear. Something...familiar. The sound of something spinning, jingling…

Oh no.

“ _ Huff, huff… Man, you really know how to make a girl work to find you! _ ” the Korok said, sounding out of breath. “ _ I’ve only got these stubby little legs for walking, you know! _ ”

He rolls his eyes. As if this task needed any help in being  _ more _ obnoxious. He wasn’t going to deal with  _ this _ thing again. 

“ _ Whatcha doin’, Mister Hylian? _ ” she asks. The cub ignores her, instead focusing on the task at hand. He feels Lassie settle down on his shoulder, jingling as she does. “ _ Cutting grass? Looks boring. _ ” 

It sure was.

“ _ You don’t look like a farmer _ ,” she continues. “ _ Don’t you Hylians have shops? Just buy some grass there. Oh! There used to be this great marketplace in central Hyrule... _ ”

Lassie’s mindless chattering goes in one ear and out the other as he grabs more clumps of wild wheatgrass, cuts it, and dumps it into the bag. Mom better be planning to make some extra delicious stew while they’re on the road. Something with fresh prime cuts of boar...

The stomping of hooves makes Lassie yelp and the cub thinks that Mom’s come for him in a hurry. Yet, when he turns, it’s a blur of brown that gallops past him, not Mom’s black stripes. The horse grunts and huffs as it circles back around, neighing loudly as its rider tugs on its mane. Fours is upon its back, giggling like a wizzrobe with a meteor rod.

“Ay! Fives!” he calls out as he slows the horse to a canter. “I’s told ya that I’s can ride ‘em!”

The cub immediately drops the blunt sickle and dashes to the side of Fours’ captured steed. All thoughts of the upcoming journey vanish. There is a horse here and he can touch it.

He’s a bit timid at first, but then pets the horse near its shoulder. The hide is tough, the hair coarse but still silky in its own right. Not nearly as nice to touch as Mom’s fur, though. Fours is perched on it as though he’s been riding his entire life and the cub can’t help but feel jealous. Yeah, he’s ridden on Mom’s back before, but that’s different. He didn’t have any say in where she walked.

“How’d you...do that?” he asks as he follows the horse.

“Like I’s said before, ye? You’s feed ‘em, and they’s like ya!” Fours replies. He pats the horse’s side. It twitches and flicks its tail. “Also you’s gotta hold on tight. Or they’s throw ya off! Heheheh.”

“ _ Hey stinky! Buzz off, stinky! You smell!! _ ” comes the shrill, alarmed shriek from the Korok. 

The cub frowns. Oh, right. She’s still there too. Before he can comment, he notices Fours’ reaction. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

Fours didn’t appear to hear a thing. No, he was busy sticking his pinky finger into his right ear. The cub looks from him and then to Lassie, who’s jingling menacingly. The presence of Fours has her on edge, yet...clearly he can’t see her, or hear her. He wonders for a moment if Koroks are actually some kind of ghost. Like a Stalfos but not.

“Fours?”

“Yeh?”

“Have you...ever heard of a Korok?” he asks. Fours hums, eyebrows scrunching, as if he has to really, really think about it. “They’re like...uh...kinda potato-y? With a leaf on their face?”

“ _ Who’re you callin’ a potato, dirt clod! _ ” Lassie yelps, jingling indignantly. The cub ignores her.

“Nope,” Fours says with a shrug. “Never heard of ‘ems. They’s some kinda food? Like a radish? Doesn’t sound like the good kindsa food, though...”

Lassie squeals like an angry mouse. The cub bites his lip to keep from laughing. 

“ _ Big words for a guy who smells like dead fish! _ ” she yells. “ _ Betcha eat garbage, too! _ ”

“Do my eyes deceive me, or are you atop a horse, Fours?” came Mom’s voice from the hilltop, startling them. She eyes them quizzically, with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t recall Topaz sharing any riding skills with you children. When, exactly, did you learn such a thing?”

Busted. The cub shuffles his feet. Mom places her sword on the ground and comes down to meet them, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together tightly.

“Um…Uh…” Fours stammers. His eyes shift nervously, looking toward the ground, anywhere but at Mom. Then, quietly, he whispers, “...Are you’s gonna tell on me?”

“Hmm…” Mom contemplates this. “Much as I believe a lesson must be learned for straying outside safe territory…” She trots up alongside the horse, dwarfing it with her bulk. “I must admit, it may be in our favor to travel with added speed...”

The cub’s eyes sparkled. Horses. If they could wrangle a few horses, they’d be able to keep up with Mom’s pace. And, rather than rely strictly on Mom, he could guide the horse himself. The very idea gets him jittery. A journey over the mountains, side-by-side with Mom, like a real set of vagabond riders...

He looks to his mother, eyes brimming with delight.

“Can we?” he pleads. “Can _ I _ ?”

Mom’s face contorts into an uncomfortable grimace, which weakens the more that both he and Fours chant, “please, please, pleeeeease?” The horse remains remarkably calm despite the hulking size of the lynel beside it, as if adding in its own piece of mind. Before she can say anything, she sighs, and the boys know immediately that she’s given in. And that’s all it takes for the cub to forget harvesting and follow after Fours’ galloping steed.

Horses! Mom’s never let him near them, and would scold him if she knew he’d tried before. Not that it matters. His heart is pounding as he races toward the herd in the distance, laughing giddily as Fours spooks them on accident. He watches the way their sturdy legs carry them across the plain as though they’re gliding. Just like how Mom runs.

Riding on one… He’s imagined it before, as something like how riding on Mom’s back was, only...he could go wherever he wanted. It’s the closest thing he’d ever get to being like...like...

“ _ Wow _ ,” Lassie gapes, unfortunately reminding him of her presence. “ _ You can understand those things?! And they don’t want to kill you?? _ ”

The cub scowls at her. “They’re not  _ things _ ,” he snaps. “They’re my family.”

That silences Lassie for a full minute as she ponders this response. She hums, plopping down on his shoulder and tapping her arm where a chin might’ve been.

“ _ Um, listen, guy _ ,” Lassie continues. “ _ Not sure what’s going on here, but the past ten thousand years? It’s been nothin’ but those things, _ ” she waves her stubby arm in Mom’s direction, “ _ running around killing people like you and me. The second they see you, they come after you. I dunno how you got them to stop, but...yeah. They’re going to change their minds when it’s convenient for them. That’s how things are, you know? _ ”

His fists tighten until his nails dig into the leather of his gloves. He so badly wants to grab this Korok and hurl it across the field. Even if it makes him look like a crazed cucco. But he stifles the urge, grits his teeth, and fervently shakes his head.

“It’s  _ not _ how it is here,” he mutters. “It’s  _ not _ .”

Whether that comment silences Lassie or she simply has nothing more to say, he doesn’t know, yet she becomes noticeably quiet after that. She doesn’t leave, no, but the silence is welcomed. He needs to focus on the horses that Fours is boldly corralling back toward the foot of the mountain. Not more garbage spewed by a forest spirit.

The blue one with the long mane. He wants that one.


	8. A Raining Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for your comments!! I haven't been able to respond (I'm between a rock and a hard place IRL), but I do read them all and they really make my day. You guys are so sweet!

Riding a horse is so much more difficult than Fours makes it look.

First of all, the horse is less than cooperative. It bucks, throws its head, goes the wrong way, and keeps stopping to poop at all the wrong moments. Which apparently it doesn’t even need to do, as Fours claims that horses are talented enough to poop _ and _ walk. The cub merely wishes that its mane wasn’t so hard to hold onto. His hands keep sweating and the hair slips from his grip.

The end result is him clinging for dear life as the horse trots roughly along the cobble path, he slowly shimmies down, and he’s left riding it sideways, face down.

“It happened  _ again _ ,” he groans.

“If the horse troubles you so much, you are more than welcome to release it,” comes Mom’s amused voice from the lead position. “Fours’ steed ought to have enough room for a second rider.”

The cub huffs, lifts his head, and blows some stray hair from his face. It’s dark and he can barely see as it is without his loose braids getting in the way. He’s not a quitter, though. Never has been, never will be. So, he’s going to stubbornly cling to his horse’s midsection as it walks onward and he wobbles like a worm. It’s only been a day. He’ll figure out the horse.

Said horse definitely has picked up on this, however. Even though it can’t talk, he just knows it’s laughing at him. He grits his teeth and scrambles back up to a seated position, if not a bit awkwardly.

“ _ So _ ,” Lassie, who’s content to ride utop the horse’s head, speaks up. “ _ Where are you guys headed anyhow? _ ” She yawns. “ _ It’s really late, isn’t it? Can’t it wait til morning? _ ”

“No,” the cub whispers. He’s careful to keep his volume low, just below the hooves of the horses, so as to not arouse suspicion. “It’s better to travel at night. Less problems.”

“ _ Less problems? Pff _ ,” Lassie shakes her head. “ _ That’s when all the Stals come out. Nothing but problems. And even if they weren’t, isn’t it weird to see the dead pop outta the ground like a buncha daisies? _ ”

Well. She does have a point. The cub glances backwards, toward the forest path behind them, then forwards, at Mom and Fours. He’s never actually seen a Stal, nor the moment they came out of the ground. He knows Fours has, though. According to him, it’s terrifying. The closest image the cub can muster up is the sight of a rotting deer carcass he found ages ago reanimating and walking around.

And that, to be fair, is absolutely terrifying.

It’s quiet right now, though. And Mom certainly isn’t worried. So as far as he’s concerned, he shouldn’t be worried either. He takes a clump of horse hair in his tiny fists, takes in a breath, and holds his head high. Horse troubles or no horse troubles, undead corpses or not, he’s  _ off the mountain _ for the first time in his life.

The woods down here smell different from the trees of the mountain. It’s all pines and apple trees up there, but the air is also colder, fresher, and thinner. In this forest, well, there’s a lot to take in. Petrichor permeates everything, along with the earthy scent of dead leaves, upturned earth, and wild plants. The trees have differently shaped leaves which he doesn’t know the name of, the paths are worn into deep grooves from horse hooves, some of which even housed puddles. In some spots he’s also picked up on trees where animals have marked their territory. There’s fur, distant old smoke, chirping crickets, fireflies...

It’s overwhelming. In a good way.

He needs to stay focused, though.

As they slowly come upon a fork in the road, Mom stops walking. Her ears perk, listening carefully to her surroundings. She makes a gesture for them all to stay behind for a moment, lets the bokoblin litter slide off of her hindquarters, then takes off down the path to the right. The cub tilts his head.

“What’s she doing?” he asks.

“Smells somethin’,” Fours states it, but it sounds more of a question than anything. He sniffs the air. “Don’t smells nothin’...”

The cub huffs. It’s the middle of the night, he doubts that any Hylians would be lying in wait for them. And this’ll mean they’re late to their next destination. He’s shown he can take care of himself with that hinox, right…?

“ _ Ooh! Oh, oh, oh-! _ ” Lassie hops in place several times, jingling wildly. She points to a large tree on their left with a tiny twig. “ _ Look look look--over there! _ ”

He squints. Underneath a shady tree are two rocks. Fairly good sized rocks, with a strange shape as though someone had chipped away at them. He blinks. Almost...like faces. 

Before he knows it, he’s sliding off the horse and scurrying onto the tiny rocky platform to get a closer look. The rocks do in fact have faces; closed eyes, noses, and calm smiles. What they’re meant to look like he can’t place, but they feel...familiar, somehow. At the statues’ feet are small basins; one with dry remnants of food, the other with a perfectly fresh apple.

“ _ No, no, put that back! _ ” Lassie scolds him as he goes to put the apple into his bag. “ _ You gotta put another apple out, in the other dish! _ ”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “ _ Why? _ ”

“ _ Because! _ ” she replies, as if that explains everything. “ _ Don’tcha think it’s weird that there’s a super-perfect apple just sittin’ there? _ ”

Well, she does have a point. He turns the apple over in his hands. It’s the reddest, most appley apple he’s ever seen. Almost to the point of it being eerie (not that it would stop him from eating it, oh no). With some reluctance, he rolls the apple back into the basin and looks for one he’d gathered earlier that day. Fours snorts in confusion.

“What you’s doin’?” he asks.

A pause. “I have no idea,” he replies before unceremoniously dropping a significantly less perfect apple into the adjacent dish.

He waits.

Confetti bursts from-somewhere, making him jolt. It comes with a brief musical fanfare, akin to when he broke the strange acorn on the mountain. A korok far larger than Lassie appears in another explosion of confetti and sparkles.

“ _ Yahaha! You found me! _ ” it announces. Much like Lassie, it seems startled to see the cub. It relaxes, however, when it sees Lassie waving her twig. “ _ Oh! I get it now! Eheheh. _ ” It hands him...something, then chirps, “ _ Buh-bye! _ ” before disappearing.

For a moment, he simply sits there in a stupified silence, staring at the...rock? seed? in his hand. He has so many questions and not all of them are things he wants answers to. He’ll just collect the apples and think about it later.

He hops down from the ledge, turning the item over in his palm. It’s hard to see in the dark but for all intents and purposes it does, in fact, look like a seed pod. It’s unlike any seed he’s ever seen before, though. When Fours approaches on his horse and leans down to sniff it, he readily hands it over, much to Lassie’s dismay.

“ _ Ugh, no, don’t give it to him! _ ”

Fours’ nose wrinkles as he sniffs it. Then, he shoves it into his mouth, crunches it, and proceeds to swallow it. The cub watches patiently.

“Well?” he asks. “What’s it taste like?”

“...Nothin’,” Fours says with a shrug. “Dirt. Maybe like pine cones?”

A honk from Ones draws their attention. He’s guffawing, clutching at his chest as he points at Fours. “You’s still eatin’  _ pine cones _ ??” he cackles.

“Pine cones!” the other two echo.

Fours huffs. “Yeh?? You’s guys eat  _ rocks _ !” he hollers back at them, though they’re laughing too hard to care.

“ _ Children _ ,” comes Mom’s serious tone. Now that, that makes everyone go dead silent. They all turn toward her, shrinking a bit at her disapproving gaze. “Your good nature in the face of all this is commendable, but do keep your voices  _ down _ ,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper. “We are not the only ones out under the moonlight.”

The volume stays low after that. They creep out of the forest in a soft pitter-patter of hooves and hushed chatter. The cub straightens his posture and keeps his eyes on their surroundings while his horse, despite its initial misgivings, seems keen to follow the horse in front of it without much fuss. 

They leave the False Beast behind. He’s mildly disappointed that he won’t be able to see it up close. They come upon a wooden bridge that spans a river and cross it. Mom claims it’s only a small river and a tiny bridge. To the cub, however, it’s the largest he’s ever seen of both--save, maybe, for the river running just behind their mountain. He can’t keep his eyes off of the wooden planks and pillars hoisting it up from the riverbed. Who made it? It doesn’t look like anything he’s seen from a monster’s camp…

Though his head is swirling with questions about buildings and what else they might encounter, his mind promptly goes blank once they’ve reached the other side. The landscape is completely open. Hilly, rocky, but very little tree coverage. Even in the dark like this, he can see on and on.

They continue along the river. Mom assures them it’s the safest route, though her posture becomes tense, ears perked to alertness. He knows he should follow, keep his nostrils flared and eyes trained on their rear for attacks from behind, but he’s utterly captivated. What else is out there, that he’s yet to discover? 

The strange purple pointed mountain peeks out over a small mountain ridge. The river widens, and splits in two directions. Briefly, the path is sandy and full of shiny wet pebbles, and he spots a monster camp. Or, well, he assumes it is. There’s a fire pit on the beach and spears dug into the sand. He can’t see those telltale piles of bones bokoblins leave...distance doesn’t hide the  _ smell _ , though, and that’s what gives them away. Where the bokoblins are now he’s not sure, but the camp is empty. 

The split mountain isn’t visible yet, but he knows it’s there somewhere, to the right. And up ahead, something large is looming. It’s hard to see it clearly, but it almost is like the mountain. Almost. It’s red, glowy, and covered in smoke. Do all mountains look different?

Another bridge. They go right, following the thinner branch of the river. 

Mom quickens her pace, making the bokoblins riding on her back yelp. The cub nearly lags behind, caught up with some strange contraption of logs and cloth. He taps the horse’s sides with his boots. It catches up easily, soon walking side-by-side with Fours. The cub offers his friend an excited grin. Fours doesn’t notice. He seems distracted, occasionally jerking and twitching like a fly is pestering him.

They round a bend, toward a hilltop. A thin trail paved by footfalls alone splits three ways; left, to a mountain pathway, ahead, toward some mossy, odd looking abandoned dens, and to the right, leading to a bridge made of stone. 

The cub’s horse snorts, stamps, and draws his attention. It stops, shakes its head and swivels its ears. Fours’ horse stops immediately after, tail flicking, taking several steps back with a disgruntled huff. 

Before the cub can comment, a jolt runs down his spine. Every hair stands on end and he shudders involuntarily. His eyes fixate on the bridge, or, rather, what lay beyond it.

There’s something in the air; all-encompassing, heavy like fog, and he doesn’t know how to put the feeling into exact words. There’s no smell, no taste, nor can he hear anything. It’s just an overwhelming feeling of  _ horrible _ . Disgusting. Vile. All in the same way as that hinox had been, yet  _ worse _ . He gags and chokes as he struggles to keep his dinner down.

“What... _ is _ this?” he finally asks, voice ragged. Mom is standing stiffly, staring across the bridge at a mountainous looking thing in the distance. He doesn’t like how still she is and urges his horse forward to her so he can touch her shoulder. “Mom...?”

A glow is pulsating through the night. Not the same fiery red as that mountain he’d seen. Deeper, darker. Something more alive than fire and far less warm. Yet it seems to burn like fire, as a sort of smoke comes off the top in bursts. The substance creeps up the sides of the strange mountain like fungus on trees, bulging like an engorged tick.

It’s Bad. His bones ache with how wretched being near the stuff is. Why? He couldn’t say. It’s instinctive. Like a sixth sense.

“This…” Mom begins. She pauses, wets her tongue, and continues, “This  _ was _ to be where we stayed for the night,” she says. “The colosseum used to be a safe haven for monsters traveling out in the open. It’s been such a long time since I’ve come this way. I...hadn’t realized…”

She steps forward, eyebrows creased. Her ears flatten against her head and she paws at the ground in a similar uneasiness as the horses. For the first time, it dawns on the cub that there is something very wrong. Wrong enough to get his normally immovable mother distressed.

“We’ll look elsewhere,” Mom states hurriedly. “Anywhere with a roof will do. I can keep watch through the daylight.” She turns around, nudging the rumps of the horses to get moving. “ _ Go. _ ”

The horses don’t need to be told twice. Instantly, they break into a brisk canter down the path, away from the Bad. Mom takes up a position at the rear, and the cub notices that she’s drawn her sword. The gaggle of bokoblins riding upon her back are huddled together in fear, whispering to each other. A low growl escapes her gritted teeth. The cub knows better than to pester her now, of all times, and he turns to Fours instead. Again, his friend seems distracted.

“Fours,” he says. “Hey, Fours!”

His friend shakes his head, snorts loudly, and rubs his forehead. “My’s head’s fulla talkin’...” he mumbles. “Real louds talkin’...”

“...Talking?” the cub repeats.

“Yeh. Like back on the mountain, but louder.”

“What’s it saying?” he presses as Fours groans.

“Ehh…Sayin’...” Fours frowns. “Sayin’ it wants me’s t’ go t’ it. But it’s like a lotta voices?” He shakes his head and turns toward the cub. “Can’t yeh hears it? It’s so loud...”

He recalls then that the bokoblins had mentioned something to that effect. When they’d seen the strange hinox ooze, they’d said they heard voices. The cub wasn’t sure what to make of it then, but now? Now his friend seems visibly stressed by this voice that the cub cannot hear. He wonders if Mom can hear it, too.

Though...why  _ can’t _ he hear it? Perhaps he’s simply not listening hard enough?

With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and listens as hard as he can. Grass rustling. Horse hooves on stone. Nervous bokoblin chatter. A faint, low sound he’s heard somewhere before, echoing over the-

Wait.

His eyes open wide.

A blaring rally horn comes over the hills, breaking Fours and the others from their trance. Without thinking, Fours hops off of his horse and runs full speed down the path. His siblings scramble from Mom’s back and chase after him in a frenzy. The cub, too, feels the tug to run toward it, but for them it seems mandatory despite the fact that they couldn’t possibly know who was on the other side.

Or...did they? He tilts his head to the side. All the rally horns sounded the same to him. Did they pick up on something he couldn’t hear, just like the strange Talking?

He follows after them as they race off the path and through the tall grass. They zigzag around rocks, rumble, and stone columns jutting out of the hilly landscape. The horse is firmly against this. It’s a battle to keep it going the right direction and his muscle power pales in comparison to the large animal. Somehow he manages to get it over the hill to see where his friends are going, and--

Oh.

Just beyond a wrecked structure, an adult orange bokoblin stands tall with a familiar curled ram’s horn clasped in her hand. He doesn’t need to ask questions now; it’s Fours’ mom and he’d recognize her anywhere. Of course they’d run without a second thought.

He decides then and there that he can dismount.

How’d she avoid the hinox? What’s she doing here? There’s a lot he wants to know, and she’s probably got a great story. With a smile, he hurries to catch up with his friends. There’s wholehearted glee in their faces, ears perked, and excited trilling from the lot of them.

Which is promptly cut off when he hears Mom’s heavy stomping hooves rush past him.

Both he and the bokoblin litter skid to a halt and flop forward in an awkward pile of bodies. Mom fervently stands between them and Fours’ mom, shield and sword drawn. The cub frowns. What’s going on? There are no enemies around? He exchanges a confused look with Fours and his siblings, whose cheerfulness has changed to worry. Their noses twitch as they scent the air with quiet snorts.

“...Mom?” the cub speaks up again, hoping for a proper answer from her this time. “What’re you doing?”

“Stay your excitement for a moment,” she replies, glowering at Fours’ mom. “Keep behind me. Things are not as they seem.”

“Keh!” Fours’ mom laughs. “Yeh says that like I’s wearin’ a mask, Ziira. Nothin’s changed.” She smirks. “Just gots tougher, yeh?”

“Topaz,” Mom growls lowly. “I recall you being  _ strictly _ against the heeding of the Call.”

“Hrrm…” Topaz scratches her chin with a smirk. “I’s remember somethin’ like that. Long time ago now, yeh?” she says. “‘Fore I’s knew what listenin’ tah Him feels like.” She clenches a fist. “You’s have no idea what kindsa strong He is, Ziira. Never felt nothin’ like it.”

What is she talking about? What strength? Who is  _ He _ ? All of this just feels  _ wrong _ .

His eyes widen. There _ is _ something different about her. The warm smile and relaxed expression has been replaced with a wrinkled brow and a wry smirk. Her eyes...they’re glowing brightly in the dark, the same sinister shade of red that he saw ooze from the hinox and leech onto that weird structure. 

It makes his hair stand on end and his toes curl. 

“You’s wanna be strong, yeh? Keep all those Hylians away?” she sneers. “Closin’ yeh earses ain’t gonna help you’s.”

Then, her gaze focuses on her children, who are squirming in anxiousness.

“ _ Come _ ,” Topaz commands with a firm point to the ground beside her.

Ones, Twos, and Threes scramble forward without a second thought before Mom can stop them. She growls, baring her teeth at Topaz as the bokoblins hide behind her. Fours takes a step forward, but hesitates. He looks between the cub and his family, as if torn. His ears droop and he twiddles his thumbs. Topaz grunts and gestures more insistently.

“ _ Now _ , Fours,” she yells.

The cub glances up at Mom, desperate for a reaction from her. Yet Mom remains serious, eyebrows knitted together tightly, her eyes never budging from Topaz and the three bokoblin children clinging to her like baby possums.

“Topaz,” Mom growls. “They are  _ children _ . Do not involve them in this.”

Topaz lets out a throaty cackle. “They’s involved by default, Ziira,” she says. “We’s  _ monsters _ . Ain’t no sense in tellin’ ‘em to pretend otherwise, yeh?” Then, Topaz snorts loudly. “Then again...I’s talkin’ to the one who went ‘n replaced their own with the  _ larva _ she didn’t have the gall t’ crush.”

“ _ Enough! _ ” Mom snaps.

“ _ No _ , Ziira, it  _ AIN’T _ !” Topaz shrieks, stamping the ground. “Yeh can’t sees it ‘cuz yeh think you’s  _ better _ ‘n Him!” She bares her teeth. “Your son’s  _ dead _ ‘cuz of those  _ things _ !” She points at the cub, who flinches and slinks behind Mom’s leg. “And you’s just gonna let ‘em get away with it? Pretend is all okay? Like that  _ thing _ won’t  _ kills _ all’a us once it’s big enough ta know whats it  _ is _ ?”

Mom roars. Topaz is immediately silenced. It makes the cub quiver and Fours screech. The sound is full of so rage in a way that he’s never heard from his mother. A kind of anger that chills him to the bone. She’s absolutely seething, eyes wide, lips pulled back in a wide, ferocious snarl. Fours’ siblings cower in terror. He worries that she’s going to swing her sword and cut all of them down. 

Yet, after a moment, the tension in her muscles begins to dissipate. She inhales, then exhales through her mouth, and replaces both sword and shield to their holsters.

“It is a testament to one’s inner strength to resist temptation and to not fall victim to the blind pursuit of revenge,” she says. Then, she averts her eyes. “...I’ve made peace with my loss. No good will come of further bloodshed.”

Topaz’s ears fold back as her eyes narrow. She takes a step back, then gestures for her children to run along toward a structure in the distance. She spits at the ground and waddles after them.

“ _ Blood traitor _ ,” she hisses over her shoulder. 

Fours stands there, staring after his family as they disappear into the ruins. He takes a shaky step forward, then stops. His entire body shakes, his nose sniffles, and he blinks rapidly. Then, he looks up to Mom, ears flat against his back,  _ pleading _ for the right answer. She looks at him gravely.

“...If you so choose, you may follow them,” she says quietly, betraying no emotion. “They are your family, after all.”

“I…” He swallows, tries to form words, but they come out garbled. He sniffles, rubs his nose, and begins to shake. “Wh….why’s she talkin’ like that…” he blubbers, voice cracking. “I’s...I’s don’t wanna...don’ wanna hurt nobodys…”

Fours ears drooped, his eyes downcast, focused on the dirt path in front of him. The cub’s ears were ringing, heart still pounding, and he stuck to clinging onto Mom’s leg for support. Though…

He pulls back, loosening his grip. The way Topaz spoke about him...should he be holding onto her like this? He slumps, staring at his hands--his tiny, hairless, clawless hands--and really  _ thinks _ about how much he isn’t like Mom. No claws, no hooves, no horns, no tail. Too small, too different. Not a lynel, not a bokoblin. 

A  _ thing _ .


	9. Wire from the Box of Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should go check out the second chapter of this fic. My friend drew an absolutely fantastic piece of fanart that I've added in!

He doesn’t sleep. He  _ tries _ , but never manages to.

The daylight hours are spent tossing and turning uncomfortably, all while feeling a bit too cold even in the sunlight. Usually he sleeps curled up next to Mom, but...he’d chosen a pile of old linens, wood, and straw underneath a still-intact part of the ruins instead. It felt as bad as it sounded. He felt Mom’s gaze on his back while he stared at the grey stone walls, too.

She always had some words of comfort for him. Why was she so quiet now?

It also didn’t soothe the anxiety that he’d close his eyes, wake up, and see that Fours had quietly left without saying goodbye. Each leaf rustling, pebble turning, and stick cracking brought him back to full wakefulness. Immediately, he’d sit up and look for Fours. Each time he’d see him still sleeping soundly close to where Mom was keeping watch. It made for only a brief moment’s respite. Every single sound he has to check. 

By the time the sun begins to set, he’s so groggy and irritable that he gives up on sleeping entirely. He leaves the ruins through an old hole in the wall. The sunset is powerfully bright, and that much more so with the lake’s added reflection. 

The horses are resting under a tree where they’ve been tied up. Though initially they’d tried to break free, now they’ve settled into a comfortable acceptance which strikes the cub as odd. Horses were different from other wild animals. A trapped deer would have fought harder, felt greater fear, and fled the moment they’d dismounted. It would have yanked at its restraints and screeched as he approached.

Instead, the blue horse merely lifts its head, perks its ears, and whinnies at him. It watches him expectantly, silently asking for food. He wordlessly tugs some tall grass up and offers it. It’s accepted, albeit with a reluctant huff. While it grazes, he strokes its long mane.

He’s glad that horses are different. It’s company that he doesn’t have to be so wary of.

“Do you want to go back?” he says. “To the mountain, I mean.” 

The horse, of course, doesn’t reply. He sighs and settles down in the grass, turning his gaze back on the ruins he’d spent the day in. From this distance, in the light, it’s a little more obvious that it was some kind of fortification. Stronger than a bokoblin cave but with none of the homeliness. Cold, lifeless. He vaguely wonders what sort of creature made it.

“If I were you, I would,” he continues. “Things...things make more sense there.” He picks at the grass by his feet. Somehow, even  _ that _ seems different than what grows on the mountain. “It’s just you and Mom and…”

He trails off. The horse grumbles gently and he looks up at it with a halfhearted smile before hanging his head. This trip was going to be fun. At least, that’s what he’d thought. Looking back...it really was never supposed to be, was it?

Soft footfalls tell him that the horse has stepped closer, but only so far as the reins allowed it. If he cuts it loose, it might leave. Run right off into the wilds of the land, never to be seen again. Just like everyone else. But--it’s not right to coop it up here, is it? Before he’d left, he’d hated being cooped up himself. 

Despite his souring stomach, he reaches back and fiddles with the knots tied in various places around the horse’s head. It comes loose somewhat easy--he was never great at knots. The horse shakes its mane out with a snort before trotting off. The cub slumps back down in the grass. Of course it’d leave. Everything leaves.

He sniffs, rubs his runny nose, and takes to fiddling to his now messy braids at each side of his face. Hair juts out in various places, poking at his face. He pulls the ties and lets his hair loose. A flower falls freely from it.

Oh. He blinks and gently picks it up. It’s still bright white and blue, vibrantly full of life, as though it was the only one thoroughly enjoying the journey. He twirls it around in his fingers. Even now, he has no idea what impulse made him pick it. Or why he’s so fond of these flowers in general. The one thing he does know, though, is that whenever he looks at them, they make him feel  _ warm _ .

The wind blows. It rustles the grass. Amidst the sound, he swears someone whispers, and he looks around the field. The blue horse is still there, grazing some feet away. Fours’ spotted horse is dozing. He’s alone.

Another gust breezes past.

_ Don’t give up. _

The cub jumps to his feet and turns around rapidly, searching for the voice. He  _ definitely _ heard someone. From where, he couldn’t tell. It was like it was everywhere, yet nowhere, all at the same time. Not as ghostly as Satori’s but with a similar otherworldly feeling. Was this...that Call Mom kept talking about? 

No, it couldn’t be. It sounded too...friendly, to be something she’d tell him to steer clear of. Too safe. And it didn’t make him want to vomit like being near that ooze did.

_ Stay with us. Come back to us. _

He stood there in the field as the winds swept through a third time, eyebrows furrowed, with a frown on his face. It’s a sad, pleading, dreamlike voice he’s never heard. And...somehow, he feels as though he’s heard it a thousand times before. In a dream, or something. Maybe. He shakes his head. If only his dreams were like Fours’. Then he’d only have to worry about stomach aches and scary animals.

But…

He looks down at the flower grasped in his hand. The voice is right, he supposes. If anything, they need to finish what they’ve started. He walks off toward the horse, and sets to work braiding it neatly into its mane. The horse remains, and with it comes a glimmer of hope.

* * *

The sun sets. Breakfast is by firelight. Nobody really has anything meaningful to say. And soon enough, they’re on the road again. Walking in a straight line down a bumpy, broken road made of broken bricks. In silence. He takes up the rear, just behind Fours, with Mom again at the lead. It’s hard to tell exactly how much time passes, what with how boring the ride is. 

The cub spends most of his time with his gaze on the ruins they pass through. Empty, shattered, and some waterlogged. Bits of wood, contraptions, what appears to be furniture and blankets all jut out in the rubble. The night air makes it even more gloomy.

(Certainly the right place to come to split them all apart, huh.)

He shakes the thought from his head. No. Fours is still here. Mom is still here. His horse friend stayed, even when it had the chance to leave. That korok thing--

Wait.

It dawns on him that Lassie vanished sometime the previous night. When, he wasn’t sure. But she definitely wasn’t around now. He frowns. Never thought he’d miss her annoying little quips. Right now he wanted  _ anything _ to break the awkward quiet between the group.

However, he had nothing to say, and Fours had nothing to say, and Mom was far too focused on the journey ahead to notice.

They ride through clusters of trees, down well-worn footpaths, over ancient cobblestone and brick roads, and through the prairie. They cross a wooden bridge not too far from a fortress of bones and follow the river beside it. The cub can’t help but stare at the hint of a skull mounted at the top; what sort of beast had a head  _ that _ large? And what kind of creature could take it down?

All this and more, all these strange things of the world outside the mountain--he decides to keep them to himself after he sees Mom’s crestfallen gaze when she looks upon the fortress.

“Let’s keep moving,” is all she has to say. “If we move quickly, we should reach the stronghold by daybreak.”

He simply nods without a word. Right. Keep moving, get to their destination. Everything else can wait. He exhales a deep, disappointed sigh and tucks away any wanderlust bubbling up. This trip was supposed to be exciting, fun, and new. Already, he’d come across over a dozen places he’d love to explore; little collapsed structures, holes loosely buried in rocky rubble, strange flowers growing in odd places, hills to climb, long shiny rods with some kind of long cloth dangling from the end…

And the split mountain was closer than ever, too! Enough so that he knew now that a great river divided it, which raised even more questions. Was water really so powerful as to chop a mountain in half?

Another time, perhaps. Which...was what Mom always used to say. Another time, and he’d get to see it all. As they set off again, he’s feeling more disgruntled than before. Off the mountain yet still cooped up. He’s gotten the horse, but none of the freedom to ride. Plus, Mom’s taking what she’s deemed the safest route: the most boring, plain pathway which allows no room for error. He does understand, to a degree, since they’re avoiding the Hylians.

They leave the riverbank and take their journey right, over a small hill, to an expansive wetland full of wooden plank walkways and burnt structures. Behind it are a new set of mountains jutting up from the flat landscape. It’s here, Mom remarks, that they’re headed. From where they’re standing it just looks like an uninteresting mass of rock. Was there really a fortress somewhere in there? Or was Mom planning to have them sleep in caves?

(He sure hoped not. Caves were wet and gross and full of keese.)

As they set off to the last leg of the journey, something in his bag jingles. Not the sound of metal tools clinking together, but a very familiar wooden sound. He stares down at it and then, hesitantly, unties the leather flap. Inside, between his stash of endura carrots and extra clothes...was Lassie. She yelped in surprise.

“ _ Oh, uh--Hi there. _ ” Lassie stops jingling. “ _ This is awkward. _ ”

“Have you been hiding in there the whole time?” the cub asks.

“ _ I wouldn’t call it hiding! Just, um...staying out of sight for a bit, y’know? _ ” She twiddles her stubby hands. “ _ Things got pretty serious and all. Didn’t want to interrupt. _ ”

The cub studies her for a moment, sighs, and turns back to watch his horse’s head bob as it trots along through the shallow water. He doesn’t want to think about the other night. It’s still too much to process.

“ _ Um _ ,” Lassie begins. “ _ Hey...about what I said the other day... _ ”

“You were right,” he mumbles.

Lassie hops out of the bag and jingles over to his front. “ _ Naw _ ,” she says. “ _ I think I wasn’t, not this time _ .”

He huffs. “You said it yourself. And Fours’ mom--she knows I’m not a...not like the rest of them.”

“ _ Oh, that. That I was right about. _ ” Lassie nods affirmatively. “ _ I meant that monsters just wanna kill ya. That’s the bit I was wrong about. _ ” The cub scowls down at her. “ _ What? They could’ve thrown you into the Malice or fed you to the lynel living in the colosseum, but they didn’t! I don’t know why they wouldn’t, but they’re not. _ ”

He’s about to retort when he picks up on something.

“...What’s malice?” he asks.

“ _ \--Oh! Uh...I think your monster friends called it something else _ ,” she replies. “ _ Y’know that gross looking gunk covering that old colosseum? That’s Malice. It hurts if you touch it. _ ”

Oh. So she knew what that stuff was too. Immediately, his interest is on her again, eyes wide.

“You know what that stuff is?” he whispers. “What is it? Everyone’s being so vague…”

“ _ Honestly? I have no idea what it is, where it comes from, or anything. It’s bad, poisonous, and gross and that’s all I ever needed to know _ ,” Lassie says with a shrug. “ _ I was born after it showed up--I’m the youngest sibling, y’know! So if you wanna know more you’ll have to ask...I dunno, the Deku Tree maybe? He knows a lot. _ ”

A tree. She wants him to have a conversation with a tree about gunk on the ground. He rolls his eyes. He really was just going to have to press Mom about that stuff, wasn’t he.

“Well, whatever it is...monsters are afraid of it, too,” he says. “Mom kept us away from it and every time she sees it, we have to move faster. Like it’s chasing us or something.”

“ _ Hmm… _ ” Lassie taps the base of her mask in thought. “ _ Y’know, I did hear once that a whole lotta monsters started appearing just before the Malice came. Maybe it’s something to do with that? _ ”

The cub hums. Why would more monsters be a bad thing? And why would they be connected to that stuff? There’s something he’s not getting. He glances up at Mom off in the distance as she thoroughly checks the burned wooden structures. She knows something, he can tell, and for whatever reason she’s keeping it to herself.

Was it because he wasn’t a monster?

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and then bumped his horse with his heels. It casually trotted forward, past Fours--who chirped in confusion and tilted his head--and closer to Mom. It was a simple question, wasn’t it? And since he had to deal with this stuff too, he should be allowed to know, right? When he’s just feet from her, he tugs the makeshift reins of the horse to stop it. Then, he swallows, and speaks up.

“Mom-”

His voice is quickly drowned out by half a dozen screeching monster voices. The growls, yaps, and barks were from a creature wholly unfamiliar to the cub, and to the horse as well if the way it stomped its feet and flattened its ears was any indication. He rapidly looked around. Giant lizard creatures sprinted toward them, spears in hand. Their eyes rotate in every direction, independently of each other. Though expressionless, they’re clearly suspicious to a degree. 

Mom, however, is visibly at ease; shoulders slouched, face neutral. The lizard people turn to each other, chatter a message that the cub can’t hear, and then a single green one races off, presumably with a message to deliver.

“My, my,” Mom says. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party. You’ve upped your security since my last visit.”

“Dangerous here now,” a blue one yaps. “Safer in numbers.” They rear up on their hind legs and walk forward at a casual pace. “Not seen you in a while, Ziira. Why have you come?”

“It’s not for a friendly visit, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replies. Then, she nods at Fours and the cub, who are quickly surrounded by curious lizalfos. “If you have the room, I’d like these two to remain in the safety of the fortress.”

“The mountain?” the blue lizalfos growls. “Not safe anymore?” Mom shakes her head. The lizalfos ponders this. Their orange tongue darts out, licks their nose and right eye, then retreats. “Explains things. Our scouts never came back.”

A green lizalfos to the left of what appeared to be the head of the scouting party yapped. They pointed off into the treeline on a small island. The cub expected the lone messenger to return. Instead, a very noisy blue bokoblin with prominent tusks raced out as fast as their tiny legs could carry them. 

They’re armed. The cub tenses. The tension immediately fades when they drop the weapon in the water as if it meant nothing. Fours’ ears perk, eyes go wide, and he happily cries out, “Uncle Saph!”

Fours leapt from the back of the horse and ran forward, all fours, to plow right into the older blue bokoblin. Said bokoblin laughed loudly, growled playfully, and started a quick wrestling match in the muddy marsh. Their snorting and snorking was friendly and happy. The cub found himself smiling.

“Hey! You’s really my nephew? Lookit ya--you’s a big’un now, yeh?” Saph said with a grin, holding Fours out at arm’s length. Fours giggled and snarled in the least ferocious way ever. “Who-oa! Gotta real hinox in the makin’ here!”

“And you’s!” He pointed up at the cub, eyes full of gleeful recognition. “Haven’t seen you’s since ya were a little’un,” he says. “Ya prolly don’t remember much’a me, huh? Yer mom wasn’t so hunky-dory on lettin’ us hang out.”

“Perhaps,” Mom spoke up, an eyebrow raised, “it was due to you being the  _ only _ bokoblin undeterred by coarser bees.”

“You’s sayin’ it like it’s a bad thing!” Saph chuckled and jerked his thumb back at his chest. “Nobody gets honey like Saph does! Heh!”

Lassie quivers in the cub’s lap. Clearly the sight of so many monsters has her nervous beyond words and pleasant jingles. He quietly tucks her away into the safety of his bag. Saph eagerly sniffs at both of the horses, the bags loosely tied around their rumps, and chirps.

“Ya even brought us horsies, Zee!” he exclaims. “Aw, you’s really treatin’ me today, yeh?” He helps the cub down from his horse’s back, sizes him up, and smiles wide. “You’s lookin’ pretty tired there, kiddums. Wanna nap? I can shows you’s the best nappin’ spots of Bone Pond--or maybe you’s both wants some food first? We’s got a huuuge larder stocked--”

He chatters on, one arm about the cub and another around Fours. The cub looks up at Mom, who’s busy conversing with the lizalfos guards, with his lips pressed into a fine line. Later, then. He’ll talk with her later for sure.


	10. Praise to Our Faring Hearts

The sheer scale of Bone Pond’s fortress leaves him awestruck. Unlike how his own home had been carefully constructed with the mountain’s natural features in mind, here it was though they’d carved into the landscape itself. Wide bridges lined by blazing torches, guards lazily waving to them as they passed. The cliffs walled them in on both sides to form a single pathway zigzagging up to the wooden fort above.

The cub’s heart swells. It felt almost like a second homecoming, all of these bokoblins peering down at him and chattering to each other. He’s never seen so many monsters in his life. Were all camps like this?

“Eheheh,” Saph snorts. “You’s lookin’ like ye ain’t never seen nothin’ like this.” The cub offers him a meek smile and shakes his head. “That mountain you’s been livin’ on….s’more like a rock! Bah! So quiet…”

“I’s been here before!” Fours pipes in, starry-eyed. “I’s gonna shows Fives all the cool stuffs too, yeh!”

“ _ Fives? _ ” Saph wrinkles his brow at his nephew and looks back to the cub. “That’s what he’s callin’ you’s?” He shakes his head. “And I’s thought  _ my _ Ma was pickin’ at straw for good names with us…” A huff. “Rocks, numberses...Hope Zee’s thought up somethin’ better’n  _ Fives _ , kiddo.”

The cub shrugs. “I...um,” he says, sputtering a bit. “We don’t...Lynel don’t pick names right away.”

_ Though you’re not one, are you? _ Came that ever-so irritating voice picking at his inner thoughts. He swallows thickly and glances away, a gloomy bitterness overtaking him as he settles into the rear spot of their little party of three.

“That’s dumb,” Saph says. “What’s she callin’ you’s then? ‘That one’?” He snickers. “Lynelses always got weird ways of doin’ stuff. Ain’t never simple, yeh?”

He shrugs halfheartedly, eyes averted. As they trudge up the dirt path leading up the cliffside, he catches other bokoblins--red, blue, black, all brandishing bone weapons or rusty swords--leering at him. They visibly freeze as he passes them, as though they’re expecting an attack, or that he might explode at any given time. The cub shrinks and hugs his arms. He wants to feel at home here more than anything, and yet...

The drop in spirit isn’t missed by Saph, who nudges the cub with his shoulder. “Aye,” he says, tone more serious this time. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“I…” The cub glances at him, voice dropping to a whisper. “Everyone’s staring...”

“Ha?” Saph perks his ears and tilts his head. “Oh! Oh, oh.” He picks up on the glare from a dark red bokoblin covered in tattoos. “They’s just not used ta seein’ yer kinda people round here, yeh? Least not the friendly kind.”

The cub makes a face. “Ah…”

“Don’t worry ‘bout them, yeh?” Saph adds, patting him roughly on the shoulder. “You’s good, they’ll see.”

Saph leads them up the winding trail until they reach a small series of caves. Rather than looking natural, it appeared that they’d been carved into the mountain by hand. Each crevice contained something different; one had a pile of flint and stacked branches, another was piled high with fruits, and the final one was a larder, a proper one sunken into the ground, well-stocked with various kinds of meat.

The cub inhaled the scent of freshly caught fish, freshly butchered wild game, and a hint of salt and spices. His mouth watered. Their own resources were down to carrots and wildberries, and boy did a seared steak or roast bird sound amazing.

“Whoa!” Fours exclaimed, eyes widening. “You’s got so much!”

“Mm-hm,” Saph nodded with a smirk. “Oughta thank our good hunters for it, they’s been gettin’ good catches all week” The children peered up at him, eyes pleading, and he barked out a laugh. “Alright, alright, let’s get you’s some foods, yeh?”

* * *

As it turned out, Saph wasn’t a particularly amazing cook. Yet he could use a cooking pot to brown a few choice cuts of pork, and the fire was warm, which was good enough for two ravenous little monsters who’d just crossed the land on horseback.

Fours and the cub sat side by side, taking turns munching away at the steaming meat placed on a large clean leaf. Saph, meanwhile, was busying himself with a bushel of apples that a white bokoblin had fetched for him. Apparently even though he was no good at cooking, he knew how to make a mean spiced baked apple.

“So,” Saph speaks up as he pushes a few apples towards the ashes surrounding the firepit. “Where’s yer Ma, Fours? An’ the others? They laggin’ behind a bit?”

Fours, who had just stuffed his cheeks, nearly choked. He took a moment to contemplate the question and thoroughly chew his food before swallowing. The cub watched him sympathetically before nudging his friend a bit.

“...They’re not coming,” he said in Fours’ place. “Some stuff happened and--and there was all this black and purple stuff--”

“It’s got a voice,” Fours added. “I heard it talkin’.”

Saph went still. But, unlike the other adults who quickly grew stern and grave when the topic was mentioned, he simply adopted a thoughtful look. He hummed, turning his gaze to the baking apples, occasionally prodding them with his stick.

“How much you kiddos know ‘bout that?” he asks.

“Mom didn’t talk about it much,” the cub replied. “She just told us to stay away from it” Fours nods in agreement.

“Awh…” Saph scratches his chin. “Yeh. I’s can see why she don’t wanna talk ‘bout that,” he says, crossing his legs over one another. “Used ta be only near the castle but now it’s gettin’ everywheres. Got the colosseum, got the bottomless swamp...Zee’s gettin’ worried about it.”

“Castle?” the cub spoke up, tilting his head. “What’s that?”

Saph turns to look off in the distance. The children follow suit, gazing out over the wetlands, the wooden bridges, and bone structures. He points beyond all of it, far off to the plains where they’d come from, to a little purple and black sliver of the strange pointed mountain. The cub blinks.

“You’s seen that before, yeh?” Saph says. “That’s a castle. Hylians made it a long, long, looong time ago.” As he says it, he counts each ‘long’ on his fingers. “Never been close ta it myself, but sometimes you’s hear ‘em talk about it. They’s always say it’s too dangerous ta go back to.”

Fours perked his ears and stared at his uncle. “You’s...you’s heard Hi-leans before?!” he stammers, lowering his voice.

“How come they left it?” the cub asks. “Why would they...” He trails off, puts two and two together, then lifts his head as he recalls something Lassie had said to him. “Malice.”

“Huh. So you’s heard ‘bout it?” Saph turns toward the two, looks between them, and hums. “Yeh. Most of us here’s know it as The Call, but Hylians always been callin’ it Malice. Cuz it hurts ‘em when they touch it.”

Oh. So that’s why Mom told him not to touch it. He rubs his greasy fingers together thoughtfully. Did it hurt monsters, too? Is that what happened to Topaz? He shifts his gaze to Fours, who had a small frown on his face and his ears hanging over his shoulders. It’s a relief, then, that Fours hadn’t gone with her, then. He didn’t know what he’d do without his best friend.

“...Is Ma gonna be okay?” Fours asks meekly.

Saph looks at him with sympathy, offers a sad little smile, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Yeh,” he says. “She ain’t gonna die from it. Nobody does It just...makes ye a lil’ weird in the head.” He sighs, and looks off toward the plains again. “So long as she ain’t done nothin’  _ stupid _ …”

Fours nods. His eyes are downcast. Even with the knowledge that they’ll be fine, it’s clear he still misses them dearly. He sniffs, his nose dripping as his eyes start to water. Saph quickly pulls him into a tight bear hug, patting him on the back as he starts to snort and whimper out sobs again. The cub, meanwhile, simply watches them helplessly. He wants to comfort his friend, too, but--what would he even say?

( _ Maybe you shouldn’t. _ Came that nagging voice from before.)

A gentle sound interrupts him from these thoughts. As Saph rubs circles into Fours’ back, he’s humming a tune. The cub’s ears perk. It’s calm, soothing, and feels almost...dreamlike, even in Saph’s rough voice. He finds himself hypnotized by it, reminded of the open sky and stories of a great ocean. 

In minutes, Fours’ sobbing grows quieter, and quieter, until he falls silent. His chest rises and falls slowly in sleep.

“...Heh. Full belly’s always made Paz’s lil guys fall asleep,” Saph comments with a chuckle. He strokes Fours’ head. “Thinkin’ he needs a good conk out after all’a that.” He looks toward the cub. “You’s prolly need one too, yeh? Somethin’s tellin’ me you’s been learnin’ a lot on yer way here.”

The cub turns away, staring at the baking apples. “Too much,” he mutters.

“World off the mountain ain’t all it’s cracked up ta be, yeh?” Saph remarks with a huff.

“Mom never told me about castles or Malice or...anything before now,” he mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows. “She  _ still _ isn’t telling me about it…Is it because I’m--I’m not a monster, am I?”

Saph scrutinizes him carefully, as if trying to determine the right thing to say. He hums once, then clicks his tongue.

“That’s somethin’ you’s gotta talk with her ‘bout,” he replies. The cub nods curtly, but averts his eyes. “Ay--I getcha, yeh? Growin’ up all the sudden ‘n realizin’ stuff aint whatcha thought sucks, don’t it? That’s what Moms is for, though. And Uncles.” He nudges the cub gently with his elbow. “Apples can wait ‘til yer feelin’ better.”

With a quiet sigh and another nod, he stands up. And, after being pointed in the right direction, he sets off.

It’s strange to navigate the fortress by himself. While he loves being surrounded by monsters, it’s not the same as home. At home, he knew each path, crevice, cave, and tree. All the monsters around him were the same group he’d cooked with, slept beside, and played with for years. They were family.

These bokoblins, though, were larger, more aggressive, and covered in battle scars, torn ears, and missing fingers. There was something in their gazes--something older, tired, and more jaded than the bright-eyed children of Satori mountain. Something altogether unwelcoming of the new and different. The cub was careful to mind himself as he passed sentries perched on wooden platforms, scouts with bone-studded bows, and soldiers clustered around the wooden fortress itself. Mom isn’t among any of them, thankfully.

He ventures on, toward a path leading beyond the fortress and into the woods. It’s here that he spots the familiar white of Mom’s fur against the backdrop of lush green foliage. She’s waiting, for what he wasn’t sure. But for now she was alone, unbothered. He inhaled deeply and began to march towards her.

A heavy set of footfalls from the opposite direction stopped him. Instinctively, he ducked into the bushes. This was no bokoblin. No, the sound was far too loud to be a bokoblin.

Sure enough, a tall, bulky black moblin with a deer carcass slung over his shoulder walked out of the dense trees. The single protruding horn on his head was painted with delicate charcoal markings and decorated at the base with some sort of leather hide. His floppy nose flicked upward, scenting Mom as she approached him.

“Ziira,” the moblin greets her with a nod, his voice deep and raspy. He drops the deer on the ground beside him. “It’s been a while. Thought the Call took you.”

“Surely you know me better than that, Flint,” she replies. “Satori’s domain remains one of the safer regions of this world even.” Though she pauses and, with a sigh, droops her ears ever so slightly. “For how much longer, however...I do not know.”

Flint snorts in surprise. “It’s reached the mountain?” he growls. “What of Satori?”

“To my knowledge, he remains untainted,” Mom continues. “But one cannot expect a god to spread himself over the land as the Call creeps ever closer.” She closes her eyes. “Even spirits fall victim to it.”

Flint lets out a rumbly hum. Then he sighs through his nose and turns his gaze toward the general direction where Fours was sleeping. His eyes narrow.

“You’ve only brought one of my sons,” he mentions.

“I’m aware.”

“What of the others? And Topaz?” he presses, tone growing angry. “Don’t tell me you’ve left them behind on that mountain when all of this is happening. Is it not your sworn duty to protect everyone residing under  _ your _ territory? If you’ve gone and put your little  _ parasite  _ above the safety of  _ my _ family, I’ll--!”

Mom rounds on him with a fierce snarl, glowering down on him. He flinches, but does not stand down. Her lips curl in a snarl, almost as if she might strike him. Then, the tension in her body dissipates, she sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I left the territory in search of news from afar,” she says. “Each of us lynels has loyalty to their own domain, yes, but also to one another in these dark times. It’s of no help to anyone if we remain in isolation. Upon my return...I found everything in a state of disarray.” 

Her soft eyes focus on him, eyebrows knitted together. 

“She heard Him. And she listened. The children followed their mother.”

Flint’s body sags as he exhales, as though a great weight had been dropped onto his back. He stares at the ground in awe, jaw slack, ears drooping onto his shoulders. His trembling hands grasp at the leather armor draped around his neck. Finally, he turns away, eyes squeezing shut.

“After the Bottomless Swamp was overrun, I thought--I thought I was making the right choice, sending them to the mountain.” He clenches his hand around his armor until his fingernails dig in. “…I should have kept them all here. I could have--!”

Mom places her hand on his shoulder. “What could you have done?” she replies gently. “What could any of us have done, really? It’s not only blinkind that fall victim to His spell; even lynels bow to the influence of the Call.”

“Still, I…” he begins, throat dry. “I should have been there.”

“Because you weren’t there, your son still has a father to return to.” She offers him a sad smile. “It’s a small concession, but not one to ignore. He needs you.”

Flint closes his eyes, sighs, and stares blankly at the ground. His posture is slumped, exhausted, as if he’s lost all strength from only a few words. Yet he nods to Mom’s words with a rumble of acknowledgement, seizes the deer by the hooves, and begins to drag it toward the wooden fort.

The cub waits. And waits. Eventually, Flint disappears from view, and he can’t hear the sound of deer hide sliding on dirt. Still, he cannot bring himself to actually approach Mom. His stomach is in knots, his head’s a mess, and he’s feeling more and more like he simply shouldn’t talk about any of--

“I know you’re hiding in the bushes, love,” Mom says.

He freezes. Then, he swallows thickly, and reluctantly crawls out from under the brush. But only enough so that he’s visible; he remains on the ground, fiddling with his bracelets and armor. 

He can feel Mom’s gaze on him, silently questioning his behavior. He opens his mouth. Then closes it, as he considers what he’s about to say. His gaze drops down to his lap as he ties long blades of grass into knots. His heart’s beating and his hands are sweating. All he can manage is to squeeze his eyes shut and lower his head.

“Do I...Should I be here?” he whispers. “Everyone looks at me funny, and I…”

Mom goes very quiet. Then, she settles down alongside him, folding her legs underneath her body. She casts her gaze out on the horizon.

“What Topaz said got to you, didn’t it?” she says. He turns away, glaring a bit in another direction. She gently reaches out to him. “Love, please look at me.”

“Was she right?” he croaks.

A pensive silence settles between them just long enough for a cold spike of fear to grow within the cub. Mom then sighs and bows her head a bit. He looks up at her and notices that she seems weary, almost older somehow.

“The world you and I were born into is not sympathetic to differences, nor to the grey space between opposing forces,” she says. “It’s true that had you and I met under different circumstances, it would not be cordial. I am but a beast to Hylian kind, while they were little more than killers in my own eyes.”

_ Killers _ . His eyes start to warm with unshed tears. He sniffs and rubs at the corners.

“Do you wish I was a lynel?” he asks.

“No, dear,” she says immediately. “I don’t.” 

Now that takes him by surprise. He hiccups and looks at her with his mouth slightly agape. She looks upon him not with reluctance, but with the same gentle, loving eyes of a mother that he’s known all his life. 

“I’ll admit it was difficult at first. I knew not how to raise a Hylian child, nor what might come of it. There were frustrations, and much to grow accustomed to,” she continued on. “You are quite different from my other children. But this in itself isn’t bad. You surprised me with strength, resilience, and kindness.” She grins. “If anything at all, I’ve learned that boundaries are not so stark between our two peoples. And you may choose what sort of person you are.”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes. He looks down at Saph, Flint, and the other bokoblins below the cliff face, chattering around the fire pit. Fours is awake, dwarfed by his far larger father, but is nevertheless happily climbing all over him with unbridled joy. The cub manages a hint of a smile.

“I want...to protect everyone here,” he replies. “Like you did back at home.”

One clawed finger brushes his bangs to the side. Mom’s eyes met his once more, wrinkling a bit on each side as she smiled. 

“You may not have hooves, nor the bulk of a lynel’s body, but this is not what matters. It’s about the spirit. The drive. Quick-wit, strength of the soul, a determination seen in few other creatures. Bravery burning so brightly that one’s breath begins to combust.”

She lifts his chin.

“In you, my little lynel, I see  _ all _ of this.”

His chest swells with pride as he inhales a deep, confident breath.

“Then I’ll be the  _ best _ lynel ever.”


	11. Time Let Me Hail and Climb

“Ow!” the cub yelps as he, yet again, stabs himself in the thumb with a bone needle. 

He glares down at the offending tip, poking up through the leather of his makeshift saddle. Regardless of what Mom said, he’s pretty sure that he wasn’t made for sewing things. Especially not armor or saddles. The bokoblin adults around him wove sinew string through hide like they were cutting through goat butter, and their fingers were short and stubby compared to his.

“ _ Slower _ , cub,” an elderly bokoblin, Brin, says, nudging him with her elbow. “S’like swords ‘n bows. You’s not gonna learn it in a few hours, yeh?”

He frowns, looking down at his portion of the saddle. The stitchwork was...sloppy, to put it nicely. All uneven and bumpy and weird, especially compared to the neat craftsmanship of the others. He sighs.

“I know…” he mutters, finally resolving to give up on it. An older, more experienced bokoblin takes over for him. “I wanted to do  _ some _ part of it myself, though.”

“Maybe you’s oughta start smaller, yeh?” another bokoblin, Flo, covered in finely-crafted leather clothing and countless bone bead earrings, chimes in. “Pouches n’ stuff’s easier to work on. Saddles’re tough, even for us. S’why it’s taken a week just ta sew it.”

The largest bokoblin of the group, Notch, stitches a few more times before tying it, cutting the string with his teeth, and clicking his tongue. “There y’are,” he says. “Workin’ saddle. Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll keep you’s from fallin’ off yer horsie.”

The cub seizes it with both hands and holds it up. Nothing fancy? It was amazing! The leather is thick but soft, it’s sturdy with space to attach saddlebags, and has a handle to keep him from being thrown around like a bag of potatoes. And, more importantly, it was  _ his _ saddle for  _ his _ horse.

“Thank you!” he says, in awe. 

The bokoblin riders grin and grunt in response, clearly pleased with their handiwork. Brimming with excitement, he quickly waves them goodbye and, saddle slung over his shoulder, bolts for the ramp. He hurries down the path, bumping into bokoblin children and adults alike. But he doesn’t care. The only thought on his mind is his horse. 

_ His _ horse. He beams. It feels so good to say that.

The fortress’ stables were crude, simple things of old Hylian structures with new planks of wood and logs nailed to them. Somehow, they were still quite effective. Horses were lined up in rows, tied to one long, sturdy tree trunk turned sideways. He raced past the four belonging to the riders that had crafted him a saddle, past Fours’ spotted mare, until he found  _ his _ horse. 

Said horse was content to pick at the dry grasses as his feet until the cub whistled him to attention. He whinnied a greeting, flicked his tail, and went back to grazing. The cub climbed over the makeshift fence, saddle in hand, and threw it over his horse. Its back twitched and the horse grunted in mild discomfort at the new sensation, but was beyond bucking, stomping, or biting at his rider over it.

“ _ Goin’ for a ride, pony boy? _ ” Lassie chirps, climbing out from under the safety of the cub’s furry collar.

“Fours told me that the hunting party was headed further into Necluda this time,” he says. “I can’t catch up to them on foot, but...maybe if I take Bolin…”

“ _ Bolin? _ ”

The cub pauses, glances up at his horse, and gives him a pat on the nose. “That’s...what I’ve decided to name him.”

Originally he’d wanted to use the old lynel custom of name-earning with his horse, seeing as he, too, was under its rules. But the riders had all named their horses; Trotter, Munchy, Chickaloo, Freckle, and Spotty, which was Fours’ very creative choice for his spotted-butt horse about a week into their stay at the fortress. He’d cycled through a variety of ideas. None of them quite fit. Or maybe he was just terrible at naming. After all, he had briefly considered calling him _ Stew _ on one particularly hungry evening.

Eventually, though, he took inspiration from a rather unlikely source: the countless lizalfos passing through the fortress’ front bridge. They spoke a peculiar dialect when in mixed monster settings--”Lizalblin”, Mom had called it, or Blin with copious amounts of Lizal--and often referred to things with words the cub was unfamiliar with. When they chattered about colors, they’d  _ exclusively _ do so in Lizal. His horse, notably, was a strange sound halfway between a yap and a growl which, to him, sounded like  _ bol-in _ . 

(Mom had told him later, after a barely muffled laugh at how he’d badly butchered it, that it was simply their word for that specific shade of blue. In his defense, she pronounced it _ far _ worse and they’d spent that afternoon in a fit of hysterical laughter.)

Bolin the horse seemed satisfied with the name. Or, at least, he showed no outward signs of disapproval. The cub strokes his mane and sets to work tying a simple set of rope reins in the specific way the riders showed him. Horses were such simple creatures. Feed them and they’d be fine with just about anything. 

Reins not so much. But an endura carrot treat was a good peace offering.

“ _ Wait wait _ ,” Lassie speaks up, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. “ _ I thought everyone was hunting out east, in the forest? _ ”

“...Yes?” he replies, frowning.

“ _ How’re you gonna get a horse up into the cliffs, huh? Horses don’t climb mountains. And before you get any other cucco-brained ideas, you’re waaay too big for a mountain goat _ .”

“Actually, I was thinking of taking the trail down by the river,” he replies, tightening the straps on the saddle as he talks. “I spotted it the other day. It winds a bit, but it’s flat all the way. It’s easier than climbing through the rocky terrain.”

“ _ And you didn’t see anyone there? _ ”

“Nope,” he says. “Saph says Hylians don’t use the path anymore.”

Lassie hums but then nods with a jingle. “ _ Well, don’t let me stop you, then! _ ” she says. “ _ We can go lookin’ for Koroks while we’re out there, too! A place like that’s loaded with hiding spots _ .”

“Why do you keep insisting we go looking for them, anyway?” he asks.

“ _ Cuz! If we run into Hestu, he can do the thing! _ ” she waves her tiny stub arms for emphasis. “ _ I dunno how he does the thing but it’s cool. _ ”

By this point he knew better than to prod Lassie for a better description of things. After she’d told him about a forest full of dead, smiling trees where you could get lost forever, he’d just assumed most things she’d say were a bit...strange, to say the least. Whatever “the thing” was didn’t matter. Hide and seek was still fun, though, and the last Korok they’d found required some genuine skill. Might be good practice.

He unties the gate keeping the horses enclosed, swings open the door, and proceeds to lead Bolin out. Still too short to hoist himself up properly, he’s stuck climbing on an old wooden crate and hopping into the saddle. Which, he notes, is a thousand times better than riding bareback. And it’s so much easier to hold rope than hair.

Bolin sets off at a walk, then a trot when the cub nudges his sides. He tests the horse by walking in a circle, seeing if it will listen properly. There’s mild resistance, some shaking of the head and slowing. Better than before.

Once he leaves the relative safety of the lizalfos sentry posts and Bolin sets a hoof onto the dirt trail, he realizes why none of the monsters use it. It’s exposed. He’s an easy target for arrows from above, octorok blasts from the tall grass and river, or any ambush that may be watching him. Instantly, he’s on guard, ears perked to listen for anything--anyone who might be lying in wait. He slows Bolin to a walk.

When he’s hidden behind the sparse pines by the river he feels a bit more at ease. There’s a somewhat familiar lizalfos stoking a fire who yaps a greeting to him. They don’t seem too concerned, so maybe he shouldn’t be either.

“ _ Woah! _ ” Lassie’s voice makes him stiffen. “ _ Look look look! Check out that bridge over there! _ ”

“What about--oh.”

As the horse trots closer to it, the cub realizes what she’s talking about; it’s unlike any other bridge he’s seen before. Bright blue with shimmering spires, intricate railings with details in what appeared to be luminous stones, and geometric patterns in the stonework. He can’t help but stare at it. Unlike the simple-yet-effective wooden plank bridges they’d crossed to reach Bone Pond, someone put a  _ lot _ of time into this bridge.

Did Hylians do this? The thought felt bittersweet, that they were capable of such extravagant constructions despite their vicious resentment of all monster kind. Would monsters, too, be capable of these kinds of monuments if they weren’t constantly planning for the next attack?

“ _ Hey, there’s a sign! _ ” Lassie chirps. She leaps off his shoulder, leaf propeller keeping her afloat, and investigates it. The cub briefly stops the horse. She ‘hmm’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ for a good few seconds. “ _...Well, that settles it! I definitely can’t read! _ ”

The cub stares up at the sky, withholding the urge to roll his eyes. If they stop at every little thing, they _ might _ make it to the hunting party by nightfall. He taps the horse into a trot. They could sightsee and not-read later.

The path wound as the river twisted; around sheer cliff faces, massive boulders and stones, across, through, and over the water itself. As he’d suspected, the path was vacated. No one in sight, not a creature stirring in the woods. It makes sense why they’d be hunting back here. What foolish Hylian would venture this far into the wilderness, where one could easily be hopelessly lost, just to catch a monster?

Speaking of hopelessly lost.

“C’mon, Bolin,” the cub, now dismounted, was fruitlessly urging his horse across the (admittedly awkward) flat stone serving as a makeshift bridge. “We’ll get right back on the path, it’s up ahead, I can see it--”

He pulls the reins. Bolin dug his feet into the damp earth and  _ yanks _ back. The cub jerks forward and splashes into the river, reins slipping through his fingers. The horse snorts at him, turns away, and trots back down the path from which they’d come. The cub narrows his eyes at his horse.

So much for Bolin listening to him.

“Ugh…” he moans. “It’s just  _ one _ rock. Horses are so  _ stubborn _ …”

“ _ Must be why you like ‘em so much _ ,” Lassie comments as he pulls his soaked self from the water. “ _ You’ve got something in common. _ ”

The cub shoots her a glare through his long, dripping bangs. Then, he shakes himself off. Water sprays in all directions. He didn’t stop til he heard a very satisfying squeak. Now Lassie was wet too. Wet enough that she’d changed from light brown to dark like a piece of dry driftwood.

“ _ Ugh! What’re you, a dog? _ ” She wipes off the water droplets dripping down her body. “ _ Were you raised in a cave?! _ ”

“Yep,” he replies.

They stare at each other silently for a moment before bursting into laughter. The cub shakes off his wet boots and chooses to go barefoot. At least for now.

“It’s lucky that the river’s shallow here,” the cub comments. “The current’s so fast and there’s that waterfall--I couldn’t see since it was so deep, but I’ve heard that sharp rocks form at the bottom of them.”

“ _ Pfft! Sounds like a normal adventure for you _ ,” Lassie says. “ _ Just float right on down to the--Hey, what’s with that look? _ ” The cub cringed. “ _ C’mon, you monsters swim, right? _ ”

No, these monsters certainly did not.

A breeze cut through the mountains. He shivers violently. The river was cold enough, but the wind stings against his frigid body. Cloud cover blocked the sun from view, withholding even that tiny luxury. He hugs his arms. Okay. Hunting party expedition postponed for now. He needs to find somewhere warm and dry to air out his clothes.

Shakily, he continues over the river rocks and up the path. If he can get into the trees, it’ll at least protect him from the wind. And where there’s trees, there’s firewood, and he’s got at least one piece of flint on him.

Under a rock canopy, he begins peeling wet pieces of armor from his arms and legs. The leather, made for a dry mountain battle setting, isn’t waterproofed. Not that any bokoblin armor is, really. He huffs. Maybe the riders back home know something about it, since they traveled through the rain to get there. He undoes his ponytail tie and wrings the hair out. 

“ _ Hey, do you smell that? _ ” Lassie says.

The cub perks his ears and sniffs. At first he can only pick up the sharp scent of cedar trees, wet grass, and decaying leaves, but then--burning dry wood, fresh kindling. Fire. He looked around rapidly until he located a thin trail of grey smoke among the treeline. His eyes widened. Someone was out here with them. Was it the hunting party?

He saunters off over the bluffs, scaling the grassy hills and rounding the thick tree trunks. In the distance, he catches sight of a small fire under what appeared to be a makeshift cave; a heavy boulder ceiling with various rocks supporting it. Barely a shelter, but enough for him to warm up. With a grin, he approaches and plops himself down beside it. Whoever made the fire isn’t there, though they can’t be far.

Each piece of clothing is stripped and laid bare on a rock close to the fire until he’s down to only his breeches. His wet pack is emptied of its goods and placed nearby to dry. He sighs, leans up against a nearby log, and holds his cold hands up to the fire.

A twig snaps. Birds flutter into the sky. His ear twitches. 

Eyes on his surroundings, he scans the nearby area. Nothing moves. He squints and blindly feels for his wooden dagger behind him. Before he can grab it, something pounces from above. Lassie tumbles from his shoulder, lands with a light thud akin to a dry stick, and scrambles behind his bag. He yells, tries to wrestle free of their grip, and glares up at the assailant. It’s a green lizalfos, covered in mossy armor.

“I found a thing!” they yap. “It’s so ugly!”

“Wazzat? Can we eat it?” Another lizalfos, a red one, hops into view, googly eyes rapidly darting in every direction.

The red lizalfos thrusts a spear in his face. He bares his teeth at them, growling lowly. Two on one? Hardly fair. Little did they know, they’d caught a hinox slayer. And the second he got his hands on his dagger--

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” the green one chants. He grabs the cub by the ankle and lifts him into the air. “Into the fire!”

“Fire! Fire! Fire!”

“What are you dumbasses doing?” The red and green lizalfos freeze, turn, and their eyes focus on the arrival of a third, blue lizalfos. “Let that thing go. It’s not food.”

“It  _ smells _ like food,” the red one responds.

“Thistle. Herb,” the blue one growls. “If you eat that thing. And get Tarkis on our scales. I’ll kill you myself.” 

They make a cut-throat gesture with the boomerang in their hand. The two lizalfos chatter with disappointment, then drop cub to the ground without further complaint. He yelps, rubs the shoulder he fell on, and quickly pulls himself to a seated position. The blue lizalfos approaches him slowly with that awkward, sprawling gait. One eye focuses while the other looks off in another direction. Lizalfos sure are strange...

“Name’s Nightshade, hatchling,” he says. “Those idiots--my nestmates. Ignore them, they think with their stomachs.” The cub doesn’t respond, too mesmerized by the way Nightshade’s eyes twitch, rotate, and seem to look everywhere at once. “You got a name?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Ooh! Let’s call ‘im Radish!” Herb hollers.

Nightshade growls. “Stop thinking about food, stinkbrain!”

“What?” Thistle chirps. “His color like radish!”

“Radish! Radish! Radish!”

Thistle and Herb begin to rapidly bounce up and down, excitedly chattering and crooning with wide open mouths. Nightshade grumbles lowly and shakes his head at his siblings. The cub merely blinks at them, confused at their lightning-quick change in attitude towards him. Well. Radish, he supposes, is an alright nickname. He likes radishes. He’d rather be Radish the friend than radish for dinner.

“Nightshade,” Thistle yaps. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too!”

“We’re both hungry. Can we have food? Like fish?”

“Fish! Fish! Fish!”

“I don’t have any fish,” Nightshade snaps. He plops down by the fire and curls his tail into a tense, tight swirl. “So suck it up.”

“Why don’t you just go down to the water?” the cub asks, looking toward the riverbank in the distance. “It’s right over there.”

“Peh!” Nightshade huffs. “Should be easy. But no. No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “Zora hunting out there. Least a half dozen.” A grumble. “That lot… Think they own the whole river.”

The cub tilts his head. “What’s a Zora?” he asks.

“Kinda like Radish. But less radish-y and more…” Thistle trails off, gesturing vaguely. “Fishy?”

“Slimy,” Herb replies in between chomping on his spear handle. “Smelly. Like pond water.”

“Lots of colors. Like us but not camouflaged. They stick out like flowers!”

He frowns, picturing himself covered in various different flowers with a long, slimy fish tail. It seems like a silly concept for a monster...but then again, when Fours told him that there were flying eyeballs with single-toed feet he hadn’t believed that either. Keese, unfortunately, were very real.

“They kill us on sight,” Nightshade says. “So no fishing.”

The cub stares at the fire. How come he keeps hearing that so much lately? Seems like everyone that looks even remotely like him wants to smite all the monsters. He doesn’t get it. Sure, the lizalfos talk kinda weird and bounce around like restless crickets, but that’s no reason to hate someone. He pokes at the fire with a stray twig with a soft hum.

“...I came out here to help out a hunting party, you know,” he says. “Do you want me to catch something for you? I’m not afraid of those Zora things.”

“Ehh? Food?” Thistle yaps.

“Radish catch food for us?” Herb adds, giving him a pleading look.

He nods and gives them a small smile. Just because he couldn’t catch up with the hunting party didn’t mean that he can’t go hunting at all, right?

“Sure,” he says. “But you’ll have to let me borrow your spear.”


	12. Secret by the Unmourning Water

The monster with versatility, cunning, and quick-wit would always win the fight. Lynels, particularly, were known for their wide range of battle tactics; powerful legs for jumping and outrunning their foes, bursts of fiery breath, pinpoint accuracy with elemental arrows, and dexterity with all manner of weapons. These included swords, offensive shields, the infamous crusher, and double-sided spears.

From an early age, the cub had been hefting around little toy swords, drawing bows with blunt arrows, and thoroughly enjoying himself by using shields for things shields weren’t designed for (like sledding down the mountain after a heavy snowfall).

Spears, though? Spears were new. 

He’d never had the muscle to make hauling them around effective. That, and pretty much every spear in existence was two times as long as he was tall. Mom’s was three times his size and specifically kept away from him due to its sheer weight alone. Admittedly, she wasn’t an expert spear-user either, as she’d explained that she’d always preferred the close combat of melee weapons.

So, when loaned a particularly sharp bident-type lizalfos spear, the cub was both giddy and confused. Not knowing how to properly catch a fish didn’t help either.

The river water chilled his legs as he waded out knee-deep into the shallows. He shivers and digs his feet into the sandy gravel of the river bottom. The current’s fast, he’ll need a steady grip to avoid getting washed downstream.

“ _ Ooh! _ ” Lassie chirped, pointing to the water. “ _ There’s one! Right there! _ ”

The cub turns on his heels, squinting at the darker water for signs of movement. It takes a moment--but then he catches the glimmer of green scales. He hoists the spear up with both hands, holding it like a wooden stake, and then brings it down. The fish bolts, unharmed.

“ _ You missed. _ ”

The cub grits his teeth and goes after another one. And another. Then a blue one. A red one.  Again and again he stabs the spearhead into the riverbed, only for the sleek, slender bass to dart past him. It doesn’t help that he just can’t stand still in the water when it feels like he’s trudging through ice.

“ _ Wow, you’re really bad at this, aren’t ya? _ ” Lassie comments, earning a glare from him. “ _ Don’tcha have like, I dunno, somethin’ better to go fishing with than a pointy stick? Maybe you could stab them with your sword. _ ”

The cub’s face contorts in disgust. “Swords are for  _ fighting _ , not  _ hunting _ ,” he scolds, deciding not to bring up that he used his sword to cut grass, break rocks, and dig up dirt. “Besides, I don’t want it smelling like fish guts.”

“ _ So you’re just gonna keep stabbing the water til the lizalfos come by and laugh at how dumb you are? _ ”

The cub stuck out his tongue. “Cucco-head.”

“ _ Acorn-breath! _ ”

“Fartface!” 

The cub stills, then yelps as something slimy passes his leg. He clammers for the shore, spear forgotten among the rocks. A large tireless frog jumps out moments later, hopping past him into the bushes. He scowls.

“ _ Haven’t you ever fished before? _ ” Lassie asks. “ _ The way you offered, I thought you were like a professional or something. _ ”

“I have,” he insists. “But...I’ve only ever done it in a pond. Me and Fours trapped them with some old wooden barricades and picked them off.” He stares out at the rapids in the deeper, rougher part of the river. “Rivers are kinda different... _ really _ different.”

There was only one river near to the mountain, and he’d never been allowed more than a glance from the cliffside. While not nearly as fast, it was wide, far wider than this one, and deep as a lake. That made it off limits. Mom couldn’t swim, nor could anyone else in the camp, so if he’d fallen in... 

He shook his head. Best not to think about it if he ever planned to go in the water again.

The grass rustles. His ears perk. Must be the lizalfos, coming to check on him. They  _ were _ pretty impatient, after all. He huffs, feeling awash with guilt, and stands up to retrieve the spear. Maybe they can show him a few pointers.

“Sorry, I don’t ha--”

He turns. A red and white, very non-lizalfos creature greets him.

The cub stumbles over the rocks as he crawls away, backwards, on his hands toward the woods. The creature stares at him with a smile. His heart is pounding.

“Ah!” the creature jerks back slightly, as if realizing they’d made a mistake.

He’s frozen to the spot, eyes fixated on the creature before him. They tower above him, perhaps similar in height to the adult bokoblins in the camp. He scans the being’s features; a prominent boomerang-shaped brow, two dangling...ears? fins? ear fins? on each side of their face. A long tail sprouted from the back of their head ending in a fin. Their hands--five-digit like his, only webbed, with fins protruding further down the arm. They’re covered in shiny scales, too, which were a deeper red and paler white than any monster he’d ever seen, and adorned in silver, gemstones, all sorts of trinkets.

It was so unlike the monsterkind he was used to. Enough so that he realized this likely  _ wasn’t _ a fellow monster. Was this a Zora, like Nightshade was talking about? If so, they were far less scary than he’d thought. And...much less like fish than he’d thought. Very little of them resembled a fish.

The cub simply stares. The Zora stares back. Then, they light up again, and--start making a strange flurry of silent hand gestures at him. He blinks twice. Nightshade made these people out to be monster-killers, but here he was only growing further and further confused by their weird flapping.

The Zora rubs their chin, muttering more strange nonsense, seeming to contemplate their next actions.

After a few tense moments of observing the bizarre Zora, the cub carefully stands up, eyes never leaving them, and picks up his spear. They’re unarmed--at least, as far as he can tell--but they also have claws and fangs. Still a threat, even if they’re focused on cucco imitations for the time being.

The Zora pauses in their internal musings, notes the spear, and grins. They follow after him, a gleam of interest in their eye. The cub watches them warily. Sure, they don’t seem dangerous, but how can he really be sure? He waits, then carefully steps into the water and resumes his spot-and-stab method.

“ _ Did they see me? _ ” Lassie whispers to him, clinging to her hiding place underneath his curtain of hair. “ _ They’re talking like they just see you but-- _ ”

“You can understand them?!” he replies, voice below a whisper.

“ _ You can’t? _ ” Lassie peeks out, risking a glance at the Zora watching them. “ _ Oh--twigs and berries, they’re coming over here! _ ”

The cub whirls around, turning the spear point up and at the Zora, who materializes behind him. They immediately tense, put their hands up, and step back, muttering something or other in a quiet voice. They point to the spear, pantomime something as they speak, and gesture to the water. The cub is lost.

“ _ They said your fishing skills suck _ ,” Lassie whispers. The cub stifles the urge to shrug her off his shoulder. “ _ And they want your spear. _ ”

The cub steps further into the water, now glaring at the Zora. Nope. Not happening. The Zora backs off further, a small, guilty frown on their face. They speak further, again gesturing with their hands. This time, however, the cub doesn’t need Lassie to translate; the Zora is miming the way a spear is thrown into the flowing river. Masterfully, too. He tilts his head a bit. The Zora waits patiently, eyes pleading with him.

He relaxes slightly. If all of this is an act to lower his guard, it’s flawless. However...he’s really beginning to wonder if this person has any ill intentions at all. Especially since Zora are, according to Nightshade, extremely territorial. If trespassing was so heinous a crime that lizalfos were attacked on sight, wouldn’t he have been struck already?

A brief, thoughtful pause passes. Then, hesitantly, he holds out the wooden spear shaft, never once breaking eye contact with the Zora. They in turn, accept the weapon with a grateful nod and careful handling. As if they understood that this was a concession not done lightly. They lapse into meaningless chatter, wading out into the shallows as they talk, gesturing here and there with the insight of a  _ real _ fisherman.

“ _ Okay, uhhh _ ,” Lassie spoke up again as she listened. “ _ Well, like I said, your fishing skills suck. Seems like this guy wants to show you how to spear fish properly. _ ”

Oh.  _ Ohhhh _ . 

The cub eyes the way the Zora holds the spear, with one hand hoisting it above their head, bent at the elbow. They search through the rapids, stiffen, then they thrust it into the water. The movement is too fast to follow. When they go to retrieve the spear, a bass is skewered on the end, limp and lifeless.

No wonder they were so insistent. He probably looked like a complete idiot. Lassie seems to agree, giggling under her breath. His ears grow hot and he looks away, squeezing at his breeches awkwardly.

The Zora taps his shoulder, startling him to attention. Unlike Lassie, there’s a friendly smile on their face. They remove the bass from the spear, return it to him with a comment, and gesture for him to follow them back to the water. He doesn’t need Lassie to translate; they want him to demonstrate what he just saw. He swallows thickly. While he wants to hunt properly, and even said he could to Nightshade and the others...whether or not he _ can _ remains to be seen.

Still, he grips the spear and trudges out into the river once again.

* * *

It takes time. A  _ long _ time, as it turns out, and it’s not until the sun begins to set that he finally has caught enough fish to bring back with him. 

Yet he’d only have half if he’d done it alone; the Zora was kind enough to help him gather the rest, having deduced that the cub wasn’t fishing for himself alone. He’d wanted to thank them in some meaningful way. Besides offering them one of his catches, that is. But they’d seemed happy enough receiving it...despite it being noticeably smaller, scrawnier, and really nothing special. Must have been a Zora thing.

He’d pondered how to effectively escape them; after all, they seemed to have something against lizalfos, and god forbid he lead them to his new friends. As it turned out, they were far more aware of the time of day than he was and, with a brief salute, they’d gone upstream. He’d waited a while, watching them disappear over a waterfall, before setting out.

Triumphantly he returns to the camp, arms full of bass, a grin on his face. The lizalfos smelled him before they saw him. As he opened his mouth to greet them, he was body slammed.

“Woah!” Herb yaps. “Radish got food!”

“Food! Food! Food!”

“Lots of food!”

Lizalfos, it seemed, had even worse manners than bokoblins. Not that the cub minded; the pure, unbridled joy in their voices, absurd projectile tongues, and two-fingered hands fumbling to grab slimy bass more than made up for it. 

The cub wasn’t terribly well-versed in cooking yet, but knew enough to not burn a fish skewer over an open flame. While his companions were content to swallow fish raw and whole, tiny bones included, he’d much rather have something hot and crispy after a hard day’s work. He recalls the savory aroma of fresh hearty bass Mom had brought home some time ago and sighs contentedly. What had she used to season them, again…?

“Oi,” Nightshade’s voice catches their attention. He approaches from above, perched upon the shelter. “Hatchling. You looking for hunting party, yes?”

“Oh. Yeah,” the cub says, realizing he’d forgotten the real reason he’d come out in the first place.

“Moblin and bokoblins coming. Not with hunting weapons,” Nightshade continues, jerking his head in their general direction. “You recognize?”

He yanks his fish skewer from the dirt, bites down on the fish, and quickly scrambles up the embankment to Nightshade’s side. He squints into the darkening sky, wishing he had the same good night vision other monsters did. Sure enough, just beyond the treeline he makes out the vague shapes of bokoblins in a variety of colors combing through the grass. And one tall, disgruntled black moblin.

A myriad of events immediately floods his mind; he left quickly, his horse lacked a rider, and Mom, after being on guard duty all day, likely didn’t know where he was. Oh, no.

Without thinking, he jumps down and races through the woods toward the search party. The ground was uneven and a bit slippery, making him stumble on the rocks and mossy earth. As he neared, the bokoblins’ ears perk. They turn their snouts to the sky. The cub spots a familiar black bokoblin among them, worry clear in his brow, and calls out.

“Fours!” he exclaims.

“Fives!!” Fours replies. In no time at all, they barrel into each other. “Where’s you gone, Fives? We’s get back home and you’s not there! Is you’s okay?” Fours blinks, sniffs him, and snorts. “You’s have fish!”

“Yeah! I was fishing,” the cub responds, holding the half-eaten fish skewer for Fours to see. “Caught this and a bunch more!”

“Ooh!”

The moment of relief fades as the heavy footsteps of Flint approach the rest of the search party. The cub’s ears droop when he realizes that everyone, excluding Fours, is scowling at him. Guilt wells up in his stomach, and he backs off from his friend.

“Hylian cub,” Flint greets curtly, with an air of mere toleration. “What, exactly, were you doing out here, of all places?”

“Fishing,” he replies quickly. “I...I made some friends, and we got caught up--”

“We’ve wasted good daylight searching for you, only to find that you’ve been romping around in the river with a bunch of our sentries?” Flint snorts indignantly. “Absurd. You know better than to stray this far from camp. And  _ they _ know better than to entertain the whims of children.”

He narrows his eyes at the little campfire in the distance, where Herb and Thistle are jumping up and down happily. Nightshade is still watching them, and he gives a brief yap of acknowledgement to Flint, who merely nods. Then, Flint turns away, gesturing for the other adult bokoblins to follow him. 

The cub merely stands there, unsure of what to say for himself. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble. Was Mom upset with him, too? He grips his arm.

“Sorry,” he says quietly to Fours, eyes on the ground.

“No worries, Fives. Dad grumbles but he’s always grumbly,” Fours says with a sympathetic smile and pat on the shoulder. “He’s gonna forget ‘bout this soon, yeh? No worries, no worries. I’s tell you’s ‘bout hunting instead, yeh? We’s saw lotsa things today!”

The cub nods and lets Fours guide him along, rambling on about how the birds looked different here than on the mountain and that there was a big passage to the sea in the distance. While all interesting in their own right, the cub was only vaguely listening. Partly due to the gnawing nervousness in his gut, but also due to the things he  _ hadn’t _ shared about the day’s events. 

He was lucky that Flint found him with the lizalfos brothers. What if they’d caught him with that Zora? Enemies or not, he didn’t want to start a brawl just because he went fishing with an admittedly talented stranger. After all, it was only a one time thing. 

Nothing bad happened, nobody needed to know.


End file.
